Guilt
by FoiblePNoteworthy
Summary: Jet finds a starving refugee while on his way to Ba Sing Se, and immediately decides to adopt him. A Jet-adopts-Zuko au, made up mostly of angst and fluff. Found family and all that soft stuff. No romance. Crossposted on ao3
1. 1-1

Two weeks spent foraging in unfamiliar territory and walking until their aches had aches was enough to make anyone crave a simple hot meal and a real table to eat it at.

The trio of the remaining Freedom Fighters had chosen to take their meal outside to enjoy the sunlight (to avoid the walls that seemed to shrink; how many years had they spent under the sun and stars?) and to watch the simple comings and goings of the little village around them (to keep an eye out for red clothes and cruel smiles).

Longshot spotted the boy first: set up high on an ostrich horse, with something about the way he held himself raising flags in his mind. He ran an assessing eye over him, noting the stiffness of his back, the slump of his shoulders; the guarded expression and drooping eyes; the hard muscle and hollow cheeks. He was a juxtaposition of weary and wary.

(Why did anyone even bother with _words _when they chose to do things like _that_?)

The swords slung over his shoulder, carefully cared for (again, _why?_) only piqued his interest, as did the scar that suggested an unseen number more, some of them invisible.

(Like needles under the skin, nipping too often to be ignored. Jet would pinch them until they pierced a new wound and finally left; more painful at the moment but soon able to heal.)

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Jet spotting him, freezing in place to watch and likely noting the same things that he had.

At the life he saw laid before him, he let out an audible sigh of fond exasperation. This was rare enough to catch Smellerbee's attention.

She glanced at him, a question in the tilt of her head. (Longshot always appreciated it when she spoke his language.) He replied with a tilt of his head towards Jet, then the stranger, his fingers tapping out a specific pattern.

She looked up, saw him, and realised as quickly as he had.

Longshot exchanged a glance with her across the table. Deliberately slowly, he raised a single eyebrow in amusement, mentally counting down the seconds before Jet would begin his welcoming speech.

Three… Two… One…

The teen passed them without a second glance, watching just long enough to assess for threats. He kept his head subtly turned so that his better ear was more towards them. Longshot chose to take that as a compliment.

He lowered the eyebrow, turning from one boy to watch the other.

Longing, quickly hidden. Frowning. A twitch as he forced himself to turn his back. A hand gripped chopsticks too tightly.

Jet wanted to take the boy in, add him to his collection of lost kids. There was never any doubt about that. So why..? Ah. His doubts were written across his face, clearer than any words would express.

_Was it right for him to take on more kids when he could barely support the two he had? Was he even suitable for the task when it had been only months since he'd lost nearly all of those he'd had before?_

Longshot had long since accepted that Jet would keep adding to them. (The other boy didn't know any other way to live.) He'd been rather looking forwards to it actually - the new person would be a clean slate, uninvolved in what they'd done or lost; and Jet needed a new purpose after he'd lost his way, before. The best way for him to help himself was for him to help someone else, feel like he was doing _good _again.

Jet was no good for anyone when he only had himself to look after, and Longshot and Smellerbee had been with him for far too long to be of much use to him like that.

(That was a good thing, obviously, but Jet needed to deal with his incessant mothering instincts _somehow_.)

The boy stopped to tie up his ostrich-horse outside the only eatery in the village, only a few metres from them. In one smooth move, practised and comfortable, he slipped his swords from his shoulder to his hip, easier to grab from rest.

He hesitated at the entrance, ear still turned towards their group, hand curled tightly in the rope holding his steed in place. He'd watched them watching him, had probably figured it wasn't _him_ they were interested in. He couldn't risk leaving what was likely one of only two things of value he owned.

The man inside must have noticed his indecision. Eager for a customer, he stepped out of the food hall to talk him through his wares, even offering to bring his meal out to him.

"Does your ostrich horse need feed?" The man asked.

A glance at the scruffy creature, slowly; apology in a soft touch to its feathers. A single coin was gripped tightly between calloused fingers. "I need it more." His tone was hard, as though that could disguise his gentle movements.

Jet flinched. He wasn't looking at him, but with the three of them silent it was impossible not to hear.

"I'm sorry, son-" the boy flinched audibly, worn shoes scuffing the dry earth beneath them, "-but that's not enough coin."

Jet twitched again.

"Do you know about anyone looking for workers?"

"Few 'round here with the coin to spend on one," the man's tone was apologetic, growing more so with his next words. "I know someone who's looking for an ostrich-horse though. He'd give you a fair price."

There was a long considering pause.

"Look, if you can't afford to feed her-"

"I know!" Slightly harsher than before, fingers catching on ungroomed feathers, greasy and limp, barely clinging to loose skin. He softened his grip and his voice. "I know."

Jet touched a hand to his pocket, full of coin they didn't need to spend, not when they could live off the land. (Not when they had someone to pick up the slack when one of them faltered.)

"I'll sweeten the deal," the man said. "You make the trade and I'll give you as much as you can eat today and tomorrow free of charge."

A baffled look; tension in his posture –in his confusion, he felt threatened.

"That coin'd keep you long enough to get somewhere you can make more – I wanna help you, kid, but I won't waste good food on a corpse-to-be. I see too many of them coming through here." The man's voice was gentle, and all the more painful for it. He _knew,_ from painful experience, what he was talking about.

"You gotta keep living _after_ now, kid."

The boy bristled, holding onto the offence for as long as he could, before he deflated.

He turned away from the man, petting his steed's neck, easily finding her favourite places. She moved with him, beak lowering to preen his short hair. He let out a long breath, frozen for a moment.

Then: "This man… where can I find-"

Jet was out of his seat, stepping past the boy to talk to the man. "Give me the best thing you've got to put some meat on a man's bones." His tone didn't allow any disobedience.

The man still took a moment to assess Jet, and gave a solid nod at what he saw. He turned and went inside without asking the boy his opinion.

He was all puffed up again, on the verge of arguing against free food even in his desperation.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, doing the same with his fists by his sides. Eventually he settled on a hissed, _"What do you want?"_

Jet didn't hesitate, already knowing not to give him time to panic. "If you know what you're doing with those swords, I'd appreciate a spar. It's been a while."

The boy gave an unconvincing sneer, turning his head to make his scar do the job for him. "I'd rather not waste the energy," he said, an admittance hidden within the insult.

(He seemed to have decided it was safe to be rude to Jet – or maybe he was testing him the hard way.

After a moment's thought, Longshot put his mental betting chips on the latter.)

Jet was careful not to mention the debt the boy already owed him – he likely still had half a mind to refuse the food, if he thought it could be used to box him in; if he thought they might try to trick more favours out of him.

"That's fair," was what he said instead. "But if you wi- _were to_ win," he stumbled for a moment, correcting his words so he didn't appear to assume he was getting his spar, even though he did, "I'd be happy to buy you dinner as well."

As if his words were a cue, the boy's stomach grumbled. His jaw clenched, the movement easy to read through the tight skin, as he restrained himself from reacting to the pain in his gut.

He lifted his chin, trying to both keep an eye on Jet (Was he too close? Did he feel threatened?) and on his friends behind him. His hands twitched, likely wishing for his weapons, then clenched into fists to hide the action.

"And if you happened to win?"

Jet gave him an easy smile _(watch your confidence there, Jet), _"You have dinner with us." He smirked wider. "My treat."

The boy flinched at the offer for some reason. He let one hand fall to the hilts of his swords, the other opening and closing beside him. His breathing shifted into a somewhat familiar pattern; long heavy inhales and quick efficient exhales. He narrowed his good eye, the other practically shut as it moved sympathetically.

Ready for any fight his words could incite, he asked, "What do you _really_ want?"

_(Cut the tiger-bull-shit, Jet, he's expecting the worst here; _anything_ less than absolute honesty…)_

"You seem like an interesting person," was Jet's reply, "who could use some people around him. We've been there."

The boy only tensed further. "I'm just fine as I am. I don't need you or u- anyone else."

Jet sidestepped the boy's near slip, but wouldn't forget it.

"If you don't want this to be a favour to yourself – which I _understand_," he added as the boy puffed up again, "If you absolutely _need_ to believe there's an angle here – and, again, I understand the feeling," (he didn't bother promising that there really wasn't one; the boy would either believe him or not)"What we want from you is another hand, if we find you to be a decent fit."

The boy fiddled with the hilt of his sword, hearing the words they didn't say, and probably some more they didn't mean. They could clarify later. Here and now, they just needed to hook him in.

They'd rather that the boy trusted their pure intentions, but no one like them believed in the kindness of strangers. If the boy thought he had something that they wanted, that he had some power in the situation along with a way to please them (and protect himself from them in doing so), he would trust them far more, if at an arm's length, than he would if they had kept promising they wanted nothing from him. He'd only wait for the other shoe to drop, and be ready to bolt the second they turned their backs, fighting like Koh if they tried to fix trust that had never existed.

The boy eyed them for a second longer, before another gurgle of his stomach made his mind up for him. The suspicion didn't drop from his face, but he let his hand slip from his swords.

"I'll give you a bout after my meal," he said, and the trio controlled their expressions. "And I'll take another meal for my win. That's all that's on the table."

Jet nodded, one boot scuffing the ground as he twisted his foot. "All for _now_?" _Or all overall?_

(Damnit, Jet, don't push so hard. He cracked; that's enough.)

"We'll see," he said, neither a yes not a no, but with a slight upward twist to his mouth.

Jet took a step back from him, accepting that for the moment. "Would you join us?" he asked, gesturing to their table, instead of pushing further.

The boy sat himself on the steps next to his ostrich horse without replying, turning his back to them, while facing his good ear towards them. This time Longshot was sure he was pushing Jet, trying to see what would happen if he was rude.

Jet returned to his table, and stuck up a casual conversation with Smellerbee, Longshot occasionally interjecting with an expression or a tap of his fingers. They paid no more attention to the boy, giving him a moment to himself to think things over. He listened to them talking, but didn't react to anything they said.

The minutes passed comfortably.

The man hesitated when he came outside with a thick meaty broth with several slabs of bread; Jet had ordered it, but they both knew it was for the other boy.

The boy solved the problem by grabbing the bowl with a quiet, "Thank you," and taking it over to the table, sitting himself down next to Longshot. There was a small awkward moment before Jet went back to his conversation, making sure to angle himself partly towards the boy so that he knew he could join in.

He said nothing as he ate, one hand holding his bowl protectively the entire time, but made no effort to hide how he watched and listened.

_-line break-_

Zuko ate slowly despite his hunger (despite his fear that it would be taken away), knowing that he'd lose it all again if he wasn't careful. He waited still after that without speaking to them or moving to stand, half to see if they'd prompt him into fighting (and to see what would happen if he refused), and half to give his body time to process his food properly.

The sun had moved a few fingers' worth across the sky, shadows beginning to lengthen on the table between them, when Zuko's hands had stopped shaking and his vison had cleared (as much as it ever did, at least). He stood to offer a fight, revelling in the ease of movement.

The boy – Jet, presumably the leader – stood with him, trying to hide his assessing look within the motion. Whatever he saw, he didn't comment on.

They took themselves off to a clear area just outside the village, where they wouldn't have to worry about damaging anything or worrying the villagers. The other two – Longshot, archer; Smellerbee, owner of too many hidden knives – sat in the dirt a safe distance away.

Zuko tied Song to a nearby house, at an equal distance from them and from himself. He knew he'd have to trust that that distance was enough to keep her safe throughout the fight; he'd have no attention to spare for her. Even in a fight between allies (and he wasn't sure that this _was_ one, not yet anyway), he couldn't risk taking his eyes off of his opponent.

"To blood?" he asked, unsheathing his swords and taking up a stance, subtly sending a warm rush through his muscles to prepare them, "Or to yield?" He knew he'd have better chances at winning with the second one.

Jet frowned slightly, mirroring him a few metres away. "How about we just get a feel for each other's style? No need to do any damage."

Was it that he doubted Zuko's skill? Did he think him too serious? Was he mocking him? He was certain there was a barb in there somewhere; he just couldn't find it.

He didn't ask any of that, instead simply shrugging. The fight was payment for the food, Jet was in charge here (as much as that grated). "Whatever you want," he said.

Without further ado, he sprang forwards, bringing one sword up and the other down in a wide sweep, keeping his feet light so he could keep pressing on. Jet was on the defensive, stepping back and bring his swords up to block. He twisted his swords, bringing them in towards him and trying to catch his hooks onto Zuko's swords, to disarm him. Zuko pushed him back, stepping back himself, only to throw himself in again a moment later.

Zuko had moved at half-speed, as, it seemed, had Jet. Both of them moved faster and faster as the fight went on and they managed to gauge how well the other could keep up. Soon, neither of them were holding back, meeting each other blow for blow, teeth gritted at they tested metal against metal, grinning with satisfaction at finding a match they could throw their all against and trust to meet them in the middle.

Somewhere throughout the fight, Zuko had abandoned the 'Honourable Rules of Combat' for a full-out brawl, using the sun's reflections on his blade to dazzle Jet, and kicking up sand when he was almost pinned. For a full minute, the two had both lost their swords and tussled with each other on the ground. Zuko had been tempted to bite him.

It wasn't long, however, before Zuko began to tire. The shakes returned to his arms, grip on his swords slipping as he sweated; his legs burned. No matter how he tried to control his breaths, they came in painful gasps. In the back of his mind, he began to panic – he was wasting precious energy on this fight, but couldn't stop without the other's permission, not without risking his dinner, which he only needed more and more as the fight dragged on (Was that his plan? Make him desperate for his meal so he could drag something else from him he didn't want to give?).

(For a half-second he considered letting the other win, if only to end the fight, but his pride banished the thought. Giving anything less than his full effort was unthinkable.)

It wasn't long before a lull came into the fight, and Zuko took the opportunity to refill his lungs, absently noticing the other doing the same. The adrenalin faded as their sweat cooled, becoming chilly in the swift approaching evening. The shakes didn't abate, and he dreaded the return to the fight, now that he could feel his muscles beginning to burn in a different way. He definitely should have stretched.

(He could feel the other's eyes on him, assessing his weakness. Was he good enough? Did he want to be?)

Jet moved towards him, and he pulled his swords back up into an exhausted guard, forcing his spine to straighten and his breaths to even out into something he could actually use. His vision was going hazy again, his left eye near useless.

But the other only sheathed his swords, a gentle hand on Zuko's wrist suggesting he do the same.

"I think we've both had enough," Jet said, still panting slightly, not commenting on how Zuko trembled, barely standing. When Zuko met his eyes, only a foot away from him (too close after so long alone), he saw a fragment of worry there - or maybe apology. He wasn't sure.

He shook the hand off, putting away his swords as he stepped back, using the motion to break eye contact.

"Dinner," Jet said, staying out of his space, but gesturing for him to go with him.

Exhausted, but pretty sure he'd met the boy's criteria, he followed after him, letting himself take a little pride in his skill.

_-line break-_

_This guy is fantastic._

Jet couldn't believe he'd found such a competent swordsman just in the middle of nowhere. The boy was driven, tough, and refused point blank to give anything less than his all, even when he needed to.

That last part was going to be a problem. Jet was used to his people trusting him and telling him what they needed, or having someone else standing next to them ready to tell him. Fleeing the Fire Nation tended to bring out one's self-preservation instincts, and it had been a while since he'd taken on a new recruit (aside from during that… disaster), let alone one with a history outside of what he knew. He'd never worked with an enigma before, and knew instinctively that this boy wasn't going to tell him anything about himself that he didn't absolutely have to.

But that skill, the effort and – judging by his 'warrior etiquette' towards the start of the fight – the formal training he'd had was far too good to let go.

Not to mention that the owner of the eatery from earlier was almost certainly right: this kid was going to die out here without someone there to help him. And he wouldn't take any help unless it was forced upon him when he was too desperate to resist.

He seemed like he was scared of everyone. Jet would bet that had something to do with that scar on his face - but he had a feeling it had more to do with however he came to be travelling alone.

Not that he'd be alone anymore, not if Jet could help it.

Dinner that night was a mostly quiet affair. Like at lunch, the boy didn't speak, eating as slowly as he dared to help his body adjust to the fact that there was _food_ in there for once. Jet wondered how long the boy had been hungry before.

He didn't ask, and was careful not to look at the boy eating, or his food, or to make any sort of comment about his eating habits. Better to act as though the boy wasn't getting the one thing he was most desperate for, which he and his friends could take away at any given moment.

They felt drained as they stepped out into the early evening. The boy seemed to droop the second the sun dipped over the horizon, even as he struggled not to show any weakness. Jet could feel the burn in his muscles that reminded him that it had been a while since he'd done anything other than walking.

He let out a yawn, and winced as he stretched his locked muscles. He turned to the boy, "We're about ready to make camp for the night, do you want to join us? We'll understand if you don't," he added before the boy had the chance to panic over turning them down, which he did immediately.

Jet had known full well that the boy wouldn't allow himself to be that vulnerable near them, but had known that he had to make the offer, so that he'd know that when he wanted to come with them that he could ask and would know that it would be accepted.

"Would you join us for breakfast, though? We can meet you back here two hours after sunrise," this part he did need to secure just now – he didn't know where the boy was camped (and couldn't ask because then the boy would never _sleep_), and so had no way of finding him, or of knowing that he wouldn't flee in the night. He needed his word, at the very least, that he would find them again.

The boy looked unsure, which Jet had expected. He realised at the last second that he'd forgotten an important detail, one that the boy, of course, wouldn't simply expect: "We'll pay. Don't worry about it."

And the guarded look came back again. "And in exchange?" That constant question, untrusting, still waiting for the other show to drop. And Jet had to ask for something, or the boy would just think he was hiding his intentions.

Jet hated trying to think of things he wanted from the boy when all he wanted was for him to be safe. But, so far, being completely honest with him had worked best. "You could think about my offer. Joining us? Giving it a shot, at least. We're headed to Ba Sing Se, you could come with us."

The boy shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know if Ba Sing Se is the best place for me."

"Then we'll help you get to wherever you should be."

Jet knew he'd misstepped when he saw the momentary heartbroken expression on his face, before he covered it with a scowl. "That… That's not an option."

Jet was tempted to say something about having lost his own home to the Fire Nation, that he understood what must have happened to him; that finding where you belong isn't necessarily about going back to where you came from, but which could be about finding somewhere new to call your own. He would have said exactly that, but the boy spoke again before he could start.

"I'm not sure that you want me anyway – I could be anyone. I could be dangerous."

"I know that you're dangerous, that's part of why I want you," Jet tried to joke, but the boy showed no reaction. "I'm only asking you to think about it. You don't have to tell me your answer if you don't want to." When the boy looked unconvinced he reduced his ask, reluctantly. "What about just to the next town? We try it out, you don't have to commit to anything. All I'm asking for right now is for you to still be here tomorrow. We can sort the rest out later."

The boy stood straight, examining Jet for a long moment. He turned his eyes – or was it just eye for him? Would he need them to cover that side? – behind Jet to his friends, looking for some sort of… something. Honesty. Safety. The potential for what Jet was offering.

His eye(s?) returned to Jet's. He gave a short bow, his hand making an odd, fumbled gesture that he gave up on halfway through. (A history in nobility? It would explain the formal sword training.)

"I will be here tomorrow two hours after sunrise. I will think about your offer. On my honour."

He showed them his back for what must be the first time, and left without another word, his ostrich-horse following behind him.

It was a start. A pretty good one, all things considered – he couldn't have asked for his first crack of the kid to have gone much better, not with him being the way that he is.

He had his foot in the door. He could go from here.


	2. 1-2

Through sleep blurred eyes, Jet watched the sun climbing above the horizon. It was an hour after sunrise; they had another until they were meeting the boy again. An hour to talk without him hearing.

In minutes they'd packed up their camp, the act made easy by its familiarity, each of them taking things in turns, moving around each other to pick up one thing or another, the flow of unified movement comfortable. When the last bedroll was secured on their packs, they migrated to the centre of what was their camp, and sat in a circle next to the ashy fire pit.

Jet spoke first. "I know I took the lead yesterday," he said, "And I want to make sure we're all on the same page."

Smellerbee rolled her eyes, idly sharpening one of her knives. "You want to adopt the new kid."

Longshot gave a half smile, waving the fingers of one hand just above the ground while the other tapped out a simple rhythm. _"We saw this coming before you did. It is fine."_

Jet relaxed slightly. "I'm sorry I didn't manage to check with you guys before I started, all the same."

Smellerbee lowered her knife, placing her focus solely on Jet. "You need a new kid, Jet. If it wasn't him it would just be someone else."

"But this isn't just about me," he insisted.

"_No,"_ Longshot jabbed his fourth finger harshly against the ground, frowning. _"It's about him, as well. He needs us as much as you need him."_

Jet nodded. "And you two? Are you even getting anything out of this?"

"He can hold his own well enough. And he seems like good company, if we can get him out of his shell. He'll understand us - that's rare enough to be worth investing in." Smellerbee looked at the knife in her hand, one out of a dozen hidden across her body, ready for use at any given moment. "But I don't know if he's a fighter, Jet, if that's what you're looking for."

"Didn't you see-"

"I did. But being able and willing to fight is not the same as being built for it… I think he wants out."

Longshot drew two fingers through the dirt, his expression twisted. _"A lot of people are tired of fighting._" He looked up and met Jet's gaze, clicking his tongue._ "We shouldn't keep him longer than he needs if we're just going to get into trouble again."_

Jet felt the familiar anger and regret twisting within him. "I already promised you guys I was done with that!"

"And so far you've done a great job," Smellerbee soothed him, hands up. "We're just reminding you of that promise. We'll stick with you no matter what, but it wouldn't be fair to ask him to join us in battle, especially since he probably _would,_ once we get through to him properly, regardless of his own feelings."

"_He seems like the type to give loyalty quickly, if thinks he can trust someone. We can't abuse that."_

There was no point in speculation at this stage. Jet didn't want to speculate on this, not when…

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. They were no use right now. The boy was coming with them whether he wanted to or not. He _needed_ them. "Let's just keep going with things as they are. We don't know anything about him for sure yet, and I'm not planning to get us in trouble anyway. We don't need to talk about this just now."

The others knew he was just shutting all this down, but they didn't object. They'd said their piece, and knew that he'd listened. They trusted him to deal with what came next, going forwards.

He squinted at the sun. There was still some time left before they were to meet with the boy, but Jet didn't feel like staying here much longer. "Let's head back and grab a bite to eat," he said. "Maybe he'll be early."

-line break-

Zuko was waiting outside of the eatery, idly petting Song, who was enjoying a coin's worth of feed. He wasn't as worried about his now-empty pockets as he should have been, which was worrying in and of itself. He knew better than to trust these people – just because he hadn't figured out their angle yet didn't mean that there _wasn't_ one – but found himself inclined to all the same.

(They'd been friendly and they'd given him what he needed and listened when he told them to back off and he knew they were just trying to get him to trust them so why was it _working?_)

It was terrifying how much he cared after only half a day and a few meals. He should leave before they managed to dig their claws in deeper. Why did he swear on his honour that he'd be here? He had little enough of it as it was and they didn't even ask for it, and now he was stuck here and-

They were here.

Jet's face lit up at the sight of him. _(Did he doubt he would keep his word? He_ swore _on it, does he think him honourless?)_ The others behind him seemed similarly pleased, he thought, though the bowman was especially difficult to read.

"Good to see you," Jet called as he approached.

Zuko narrowed his eyes at the hidden insult. "I said I'd be here."

Jet shrugged, some expression flitting across his face too quickly for Zuko to read it. "You did. Do you want to eat inside or outside?" He brushed off Zuko's offence, similarly ignoring his frosty greeting.

"You're paying." A reminder of both his promise and his status.

"Yeah, but I'm not too bothered." Jet watched him and waited for a reply. When none was forthcoming, he offered, "Do you want to eat outside so you can keep an eye on your ostrich-horse?"

"Her name is Song."

"Is that a yes?"

Zuko shrugged again. The ruder he was the less likely they'd get attached. The more likely they would get tired of this waiting game and move in for whatever they really wanted, and he could be done with these mind-games.

Jet took everyone's orders and went inside with Longshot. Smellerbee waited outside with Zuko.

She looked like she wanted to ask something, but never said anything, just _looked_ at him expectantly like he was supposed to _do_ something, but _how could he_ when she didn't _ask_ him to?

"What?"

She blinked. "It doesn't matter."

"_What?"_

She sighed. "I want to have some sort of conversation with you since we haven't actually spoken, but…" she looked over at him. "I don't know how to start one without asking you questions, and I get the feeling you're not gonna like that."  
"No," he agreed. "I wouldn't." He looked away. There was a simple enough resolution to this.

_Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it-_ "How long have you three been together?"

She grinned at him, and he couldn't quite find it in himself to be annoyed at himself.

-line break-

"…And we each had our own little huts in the trees, and no one knew where we were, so it always felt really safe, and we'd tell stories around the campfire every night." A plate in each hand, Jet stepped out of the building to Smellerbee's voice. It was rare to hear her sound so young and happy; and he wouldn't have expected to hear it when talking about their lost home, of all things. Maybe it hadn't been all that bad, until the end. "Some of the younger kids," she said, "They'd been there all their lives, or near enough."

"Certainly felt that way sometimes," Jet agreed, silently regretting speaking when the boy flinched. (Maybe he shouldn't have come at him from the left, his vision had to be affected by that scar, even if he wasn't completely blind there.) Still, he figured the best way to resolve it was to keep going as if nothing was wrong; he suspected that little would bother the boy as much as having his issues pointed out. He couldn't afford to risk it just yet.

"Looking after toddlers in tree houses was always a nightmare," he said, managing to put a little laugh in his voice.

Smellerbee snorted, sticking her tongue out at him as she took her plate. "You love The Duke."

"Wouldn't have put all that effort in if I didn't." He saw the boy relaxing again in the corner of his eye, but was careful not to look directly at him.

"_Yeah, you would have,"_ Longshot tapped on the plate he was passing to the new boy.

Settled on the steps with his plate on his knees, Jet held his hands up in admittance. "Okay, yeah, probably. But still."

"The Duke?" the new boy asked, already tucking in.

"He's one of my kids," Jet said, pleased that he'd joined the conversation without invitation. "_Was _one of my kids… He's fine, it's just complicated." He blinked away amber visions. (Breathed in.) Scanned the horizon; not a dot of red in sight. (Breathed out.) Sniffed subtly; no smoke, no spice, nothing burnt - (Breathed in) – no fire or Firebending. (Breathed out. It felt natural this time.)

The new boy was watching him closely. "Is that just something you do, then?"

Jet shrugged, trying to act as though the question wasn't _incredibly_ important. "I've been where they are. It helps me to help them." _Being honest and framing yourself as selfish seem to be the best ways to go with him, as difficult as it is._ The new boy always needed to see that he had something Jet wanted.

He nodded and took another bite of his food. Just as Jet was about to start up another conversation – with Bee and Long, as he didn't know what questions were safe and which weren't with him – he asked, "Have you been anywhere interesting in your travels, then?"

Jet looked at him in surprise, just in time to catch the open expression of curiosity, undercut with the sort of awkwardness that doesn't really go away, before the boy caught the look and flushed, hands tight on his plate as he looked away. "Or whatever, it's not. Um."

The tension in the shoulders, protective stance – protecting the _plate,_ no less – suggested that this was more than embarrassment. Did he really think he'd hurt him just for talking out of turn?

He needed to say something but what was he supposed to say? What did he need to hear right now? Would he listen? Jet could do a lot of damage if he misread the situation or said the wrong thing here.

Seconds crawled by as he tried to think of what to say. Slight shakes, not hunger-driven this time, appeared in the boy's shoulders as he started eating faster. How was this so serious so quickly?

"Every town we've visited has been sorta the same," Smellerbee said, "You've seen plains once, you've seen them a hundred times. But we met these really annoying nomads a few weeks ago; they kept singing the same songs over and over, but with different words?"

The boy relaxed as soon as he realised she'd started answering his question – as soon as he'd realised that he hadn't done something they didn't want him to.

_Look for the positives_, Jet told himself, to keep himself from screaming, _at least you know how to calm him now._

Jet joined in when Smellerbee came to a lull, pushing the tension from his thoughts and voice, thinking instead of the day that had become funny now that they were past it. "I swear, it was either one song with twenty different verses, or the guy only knew one tune but wanted us to think he knew more? We tried pointing it out to him and he just. Didn't react."

"At all," Smellerbee nodded. "He would look at us for half a second and then go back to singing the _same song_ all over again."

"…would these people be the nomads who would only sing about love but in the vaguest possible terms? No one ever taught their ringleader how to wear a robe?"

Jet chuckled. "You've met them too, then?"

The boy stared at him for a half-beat too long, his lone eyebrow ticking up slightly. He didn't bother voicing the sarcastic remark. "If you spend enough time travelling…" he said instead. "Plus, I had a habit of seeking out bards. I wasted so much time waiting for them to do _something_ substantial."

"We happened to be going in the same direction as them for a _whole day_," Smellerbee said.

The boy winced.

"Exactly."

The easy conversation continued as their bowls emptied and the sun inched across the sky. The boy mostly stayed out of it, listening to them reminisce, but was no longer afraid to join in.

-line break-

They were careful to keep the conversation on lighter topics – funny stories of travel, friendly debates about treehouses vs stone houses, the disasters that come with raising young kids when you yourself are a kid. They didn't mention why they were travelling, why they needed tree houses, why those kids were with them and not their parents.

Zuko could guess though. The Fire Nation. As much as he wanted to _was considering_ joining them (just until the next town), he knew in his heart of hearts it would never work. He couldn't be safe with them. Not if they knew the truth.

_But_… tagging along for a week or two couldn't hurt. As much as he hated to admit it, he was struggling to survive, and these people were offering him help. They seemed... safe. He knew what they wanted from him, or at least he was pretty sure he did, and he could supply that easily enough. They were coming off pretty poorly in the bargain, but if they really were the types to help people, just because…

He was a fool to believe it for a second, but if the worst came to the worst, he could throw a few fireballs and leap onto Song.

(He really wanted to be able to trust them. The longing was bitter and fierce and painful, but he couldn't quite squash it. They hadn't hurt him, even when he was rude, even when they were _fighting_, even when he kept pushing away their offer, wouldn't give them whatever it was that they wanted. They hadn't hurt him. Not a little slap. Not a punch on the arm that they could explain away as camaraderie. They'd barely touched him, never without him knowing.

Maybe it would be okay.)

_It wouldn't work. It wouldn't work. It wouldn't work. You're Fire Nation. You're the Prince. They'd hate you, if they knew. They'd kill you._

_But they don't know. And they won't if you're careful._

The guilt burned in his throat like bile, at his deception of these people who saw his face and thought they knew him, thought they were kin of a kind when they were anything but, but he swallowed it down.

If an army of archers, The Ocean Spirit, and The _Firelord_ himself couldn't kill him (not that the last one was _really_ trying to, he just had to place the choice in Agni's hands; had to check that Agni still wanted him to live), there was no way he would let his own damned_ emotions_ drag life from his body.

He'd accept their help until he was able to go on alone again. Not a minute longer.

Nothing mattered other than staying alive.

"…so somehow he had a splinter in every finger-"

"Li," the boy said, eyes straight forwards with his knees almost to his chest.

"What?"

He blinked, only just seeming to notice he'd said something. "I. Uh. You guys can call me Li, if you want."

Jet didn't respond, surprised to have been given a name so easily.

A hand came up to the back of his neck. He spoke in a mumble, refusing to look at any of them. "If we're travelling together and stuff it's probably best you have something to call me."

"Li?" The name didn't quite suit him, he thought. Soft. Ordinary. It was how he wanted people to see him, but not who he was. And it definitely wasn't his real name.

"It – it's not, my, uh-"

"Real name?"

He swallowed and nodded. "Is that okay? I just – I can't-"

"Don't worry about it," Jet gave him a careful smile. "I haven't used my real name in eight years. None of us have for a while."

He blinked. "I probably should have guessed that."

Smellerbee leaned forward. "Something wrong with _our _names, _Li_?"

He tensed, but managed to joke, "There's no right answer to that, is there?"

She grinned with too many teeth, and, moving slowly enough that he'd easily see it coming, gave him a nudge with her elbow (not so gentle that he'd realise she was using kid gloves and get offended _because of course he would_, but far enough from harsh not to upset him, if he reacted badly. Hopefully). He didn't flinch or shy away._ A win._

"So," Jet said, "You're gonna stick with us, then?"

His smile froze. "I don't know if I'll stick around as long as you want me to," he hedged, "But travelling with allies sounds easier than going it alone."

Jet held back a sigh. This was enough. He would _make it_ be enough. He would have a few weeks to charm the boy and, failing that, would feed him and teach him everything there is to know about foraging and slip some coin into his bag, and he'd be okay even if he did choose to leave.

"I hope I'll be able to change your mind," Jet admitted, because _(Li Rule Number One:) _Li Likes Honesty, and if he can use that loophole to say nice things to him and persuade him to stick around then he will, "But at the end of the day, it'll be your decision, whatever happens."

_(Li Rule Number Two: Don't tell him what to do.)_

"But…" Li hesitated over his words, but continued. "I'll be honest with you, Jet," he said. "You don't want me in your group."

"I think I do," Jet said, brushing off his words easily (why _wouldn't_ he want him?) but taking in the sincerity contained within them (just _another_ thing to fix here), placing a cautious hand on Li's arm. He didn't flinch then, either. "And whether or not I want you here is my decision to make."

"It is," Li agreed quickly, he clearly didn't want to be saying this either. "I just wanted to have said that, so that when you eventually realise that you don't want me – and you will, _don't make that face-"_ he went so far to point at Jet as he spoke. "-I know what you want and what you think you see, and trust me, I'm not that."

_(What's that supposed to mean? Does he think I only want a warrior from him, still?)_

Li continued, "I want to be able to say, 'I told you so' while I get the fuck out of there."

_(More things to fix, don't stress about it, you'll have a few weeks at least to sort this. It'll be okay, just don't let yourself stress over this and everything will be okay.)_

Li sighed, seemingly still not done. "I don't like that I've been lying to you, Jet, and that I will continue to lie because I _have to_, and I want to have been honest at one point in all of this." Despite the conviction in his voice, he refused to meet Jet's eye.

"So this is me being honest: You don't want me, Jet, and if you ever find out why, you'll regret not leaving me to die the day we met."

Jet clenched a fist at his side, letting the anger at whoever made him think about himself that way wash into and out of him; it was no use to him right now, and he couldn't let Li see it and misunderstand. He had to let go for now; wait until he had Li's trust and knew at least a bit more about him. There was nothing he could do to change his mind.

"Would you be happy to leave today?" he said instead, not knowing how to acknowledge anything Li had just said. Denying something Li was so sure about wouldn't help. (Breathe in; breathe out.)

He shrugged, unhappy to be asked, pushed to present an opinion that may contradict with what Jet wanted, even as he clearly wanted to have a choice _(that's gonna be tricky to work around)_. "I'm ready whenever. Song's got all my stuff."

He pointed his thumb to the half-empty saddlebag. Song leaned down to nuzzle at his head, rubbing her chin on his fuzzy hair, careful not to scrape him with the point of her beak. He subtly twisted his head so that she couldn't touch his scar. (Was the aversion trauma-related? Or did the scar hurt to touch? Song was being too gentle for it to be an aversion to her preening specifically.)

Jet glanced at the others, who each hefted their bags in reply, getting to their feet. Li did the same, moving to untie Song.

Something comfortable settled in his chest. They were leaving together.

-line break-

Author's note: Just a head's up - I'm writing this primarily to go on ao3, which has a system which makes writing a series of short stories (as opposed to a chapter-by-chapter novel) very simple. While I could post this series as a series of short stories here, it would probably be rather irritating when moving between the stories, especially as some are as short as 1K words, so I'm publishing it as one long book here. However, the way that it is written does reflect the short story format, which could lead to occasional confusion at longer time jumps that were not otherwise indicated. I will try to reflect these changes in authors notes and in the chapter titles. If there is any confusion. don't hesitate to ask.

For reference, the first arc, which is contained in one long story on ao3, will take place over the first five chapters. Feel free to check the story out of ao3 (I am FoiblePNoteworthy over there as well) as there are more chapters already out there.

Also, just before I forget, for the first arc I will be publishing a new chapter weekly; however, in later arcs it will probably slow down to once every two or three weeks.


	3. 1-3

While everyone else got themselves ready to leave, Jet went inside to pay.

Behind the counter, the owner gave him an approving look. Jet felt a flash of annoyance – the man must have been listening – but gave him a nod in return. He'd wanted Li to live as well, and he'd been willing to put the effort into making it happen, just as they had. That kindness was special in its scarcity, as much as he didn't wasn't anyone else near _his_ kids.

"A word of warning," the man offered, "In case you hadn't heard. There's been sightings of a group of Fire Nation warriors a few towns away not too long ago. The Rhino Somethings? I'm not sure. Chances are they'll be at the next town over by now. You should probably skip it and head for the next one after that, if you can."

"Firebenders?"

"Not sure." He shrugged. "All I know for sure is that they're looking for someone specific – by the sounds of things, someone who seriously pissed off the Fire Nation. Tracked them halfway across the Earth Kingdom."

There was something in his tone that suggested there was more. Was he waiting for him to ask or what?

"So you're taking the kid with you then?" he asked, as if they hadn't already established that that was happening.

"Of course," Jet let himself give a little grin. "He needs us; we need him. It's mutually beneficial. Why are you asking?"

Because he had a reason, there was no doubt about that. If this guy was going to try to cause him problems right after he'd got the kid's agreement…

"The rumour is that the guys are looking for a…" and his expression turned equal parts apologetic and uncompromising, "…they're looking for a kid with a scar. One on his, ah." He made a gesture to the left side of his face. Just to ensure that there was no doubt that it was _his_ kid.

_Damnit, Li._

"I see," Jet said, lacking anything else to say.

He flinched at a sharp whistle from outside, recognising it as their greeting. He glanced back towards them to see Smellerbee leant in close to Li, him listening intently as she… taught him their whistle system.

_Nice one, Smellerbee._

The whistling would help him integrate. He wouldn't fear any secret messages passing between them if he knew all the whistles' meanings, and it would feel more permanent if he was let in on something as vital to them as this.

Plus, by the sounds of things, they were headed towards a fight and a half. The whistles could only come in handy.

He realised the man was still looking at him. "Thank you for telling me," he said, then turned and left without saying goodbye. Not that the man deserved it, ruining his mood like that. He'd just got Li and now he had to… what?

Where did he go from here? He had to deal with these guys, obviously, but he couldn't tell Li because the idiot would definitely run off the second he thought he was putting them in danger. Plus, if Smellerbee was even halfway right about Li, he couldn't go shoving him towards fights.

So he had to deal with these guys without letting Li know about it – not that there were guys after him (though he likely suspected as much), not that they were going to deal with it, not that they were going off to a fight without him.

Because that works so well with Li's absolute need for honesty. How were they even supposed to get away to deal with the fight without him knowing about it?

There was no way to sort this that Li would like.

-line break-

Jet had been in there too long. Something was wrong.

Zuko couldn't believe he'd let himself be distracted – stupid! Who cared about learning a handful of whistles (a secret code they could use against him; one they were trusting him with at the first possible opportunity) when he needed to be on guard at every second.

…with his bad ear and bad eye facing towards the leader. He'd let his guard down sometime amid their conversation, over an hour ago now, having decided without thinking about it that they were safe.

_(It was so nice to just sit and talk and listen with interesting people who liked him. It shouldn't be such a rare luxury.)_

He couldn't let himself think that. Even if they were trustworthy, they weren't safe to be around. Not when he was lying to them like this – not that he could stop, of course.

It was the same story he'd known through all his time in exile, unable to have any true friends. On the odd occasion he could get away from his duties to meet up with the travellers he met, port to port, he'd lied about his name and heritage and everything else they wanted to know about him.

(It had been worth it though, to have a few nights spent with people who thought him the same as them, an equal, other kids the same age as him. Responsibilities dropped from his shoulders.)

For the most part, he hadn't been in too much danger – his crew could help him if he needed it (not that he'd ever ask them for it), and he was hanging out with bards, travelling performers and singers, not with swordsmen who'd clearly seen the war already.

If Jet and his crew thought him a threat, they wouldn't hesitate to kill him. It's not just that they would, though - they'd know _how_ to do it. With three of them on one, with his exhausted state, with his instincts rewired to hide his firebending, the only thing he had was his vigilance.

And he didn't even have that.

He glanced over at Jet, still talking to the man inside. _Something_ was going on, and he didn't know what, because he _trusted_ them like a fool.

(Every time he thinks he can't sink lower, he finds a new level to disgust himself on. Sure he couldn't be an honest person right now, but he'd always been an okay soldier.)

Jet came outside with a false smile. He was stressed, but didn't want them to know. Correction: He didn't want 'Li' to know, he wouldn't pretend like this for the others - he'd have been honest with _them_.

(He hadn't known them long enough for the ache in his chest to be justified.)

_(He was so sick of being alone.)_

"Something's come up," Jet said, like an asshole. He gave a flimsy excuse to take Longshot and Smellerbee off to the side and talk to them without letting Zuko hear. He let them. He could hardly stop them from being untrustworthy. That was their decision.

They were probably planning how to sell him to the authorities. The only question was, which ones?

At least the Earth Kingdom would grant him a quick death, once they realised he wasn't any use to them. (It wasn't as though his father would give them anything for him. It would be his own fault for getting captured.)

_Was_ that what was happening though?

Why would they waste their coin on a dead man? He'd barely been able to hold his swords towards the end of the fight yesterday, that would have been the perfect time to spring a trap. But they didn't. They'd fed him twice again since then. They'd let him sleep away from them, and hadn't approached his camp at all through the night. (He knew, he'd been watching.)

Perhaps they were trying to grab his trust, make him walk himself to his death, avoid a fight with a dangerous and desperate opponent.

But they must already know that he's slow to trust. A few meals would keep him with them, but it wouldn't stop him running at the first hint of trouble_. (Why hadn't he left yet, then?)_ He hadn't stayed alive this long by trusting people.

(Except for the peasant bards he'd followed across the kingdom for years, when his quest seemed doomed and all hope was lost.

But this wasn't the same, and he couldn't pretend it was.)

Suffice to say, however, was that they knew he wasn't about to trust them just because they'd _fed _him and acted _nice_ for a few hours.

So they weren't about to betray him.

…and his only evidence of that was that they would be doing a terrible job at it if they were. Meaning it would be even more embarrassing if they captured him.

He gritted his teeth. Song petted his head with her beak, nuzzling him gently. She was such a good girl. Hopefully Jet and the others would take good care of her after they betrayed him.

Could he ask them to? Would he be in more danger if they knew he knew? Worse – would _Song_ be in danger if he let on that he cared about her? Most didn't care too much for their ostrich-horses, (because most didn't rely entirely on them for company).

Either way, it was decision time. Jet was coming back.

(And he hadn't been eavesdropping, why? By Agni, when they killed him, it would be his own fault.)

Jet sat himself next to him at an arm's length. "Listen, Li," he said," A friend of ours got himself into a spot of trouble; we need to head to the next town over to scope out the situation, help sort it for him if we can."

Zuko's eyes narrowed. He didn't seem to be lying, but… "What's actually happening?"

Jet hesitated, a slight grimace crawling across his face. It was better than that fake grin from earlier. "That is what's happening, but-"

"But what?"

"Okay, so I left out a few details," Zuko opened his mouth to ask again, when he looked like he wasn't going to explain further, but Jet started again before he could, "We'll explain properly when we get back, okay? I'd rather wait until everything was sorted."

Zuko blinked. "Get back?" They were leaving him behind? Taking their eyes off their bounty? Taking off their eyes off of such a skittish ah, _travelled,_ bounty?

_(Another sign that they were either trustworthy or incompetent.)_

"It's _our_ friend we're helping out." There was a slight hesitance to his words – he was missing something out… but it didn't seem to be malicious. "It wouldn't be fair on you to ask you to help us."

"Wasn't that the whole point in taking me on in the first place?" They wanted _"an extra hand" _didn't they? Why reject him like this?

"Not this soon. I'd hate for you to think that's all we want from you."

Of course, Jet's proclivity for taking in helpless, abandoned little kids. That was so much better. _(Even though it was true.)_

"Plus," Jet added, "You're not quite at full strength yet. I'd hate to push you towards a fight before you'd, ah, recovered."

Translation: _you're so weak and ill you'd probably hurt yourself._

Well, he couldn't argue with that. Much as he'd like to.

He watched Jet for a second, but he didn't look close to relenting. He'd have little luck getting him to explain further. Not to mention that Jet's expression gave nothing away – he was a people-person, skilled with expressions and lies in a way Zuko was all-too-familiar with, but could never replicate.

(Well, not without a script and some practise and a willingly ignorant audience to help him. But none of that would help him here.)

"How long will you be?" he asked instead.

Jet looked surprised by his acceptance, and more than a little bit pleased. "Three days at the most."

"Probably two then?"

Jet shrugged. "It depends on how long our business takes us."

Zuko let out a little sigh of annoyance. He was reliant on what Jet told him here, when he was, by his own admission, hiding the truth from him. He had no information, and no way to get it.

_Unless…_

That would work.

"Here." Jet handed him a small heavy pouch. The coins inside it clinked against each other. "To keep you going until we get back."

With half an army, and mountains of coin, a hundred times the amount in the pouch he held - which would surely only be enough for a few days meals, if he was careful with it.

This pouch, as much as he needed it, was a mark against them; the fact that they were so liberal with their coin suggested that they were expecting more to come in soon.

Still, even as his pride urged him to reject the money, logic and hunger won. He stood, and tucked it safely in Song's saddlebag.

Jet took a gentle hold of his wrist. "Promise you'll still be here when we get back?"

Carefully, Zuko took his wrist back, turning to face him fully. "Be back in three days," he said, not quite promising, but not_ not_ promising either. "I don't like staying in one place for too long."

Jet nodded, hearing what he didn't want to say. "Three days."

The trio were already prepped to go. He sat back down on the steps, Song settled beside him, gently nudging him with her long neck, and they watched them leave.

He took in a deep breath, then let it out, as though that could shift the unexpected ache in his chest.


	4. 1-4

**AN: sorry this is late, forgot to post it with everything that's been happening**

Longshot glanced back at the shrinking town over his shoulder.

_"He's still watching us,"_ he told them in a frown.

Jet gave an answering frown, but said nothing.

They walked on.

"…Did you think I made the right choice?" Jet broke the silence. Neither of them answered him.

He hated feeling like this. This uncertainty. He was meant to be the leader, he had to be right first time every time because anything else didn't bear thinking about - anything other than success meant his kids were hurt. He had to do everything he could, and he had to be sure because uncertainty meant hesitation which meant inaction which could only put them at risk. He had to look after his kids.

But Li… He didn't know him yet. Didn't know his story, didn't know how to make him happy, didn't know his triggers (though his face allowed him a few guesses). He didn't know how to avoid hurting him, and could only guess at how to look after him.

(Was he even capable of looking after anyone, anymore?)

"Guys?" Showing weakness was even worse… or it would be if he had more followers than his two friends, who were becoming more like his peers and less like his responsibilities every time he let himself ask them for help instead of forcing himself to be this pillar that everyone leaned on.

He didn't have to be that anymore. Couldn't be (there was no one left). He missed it in a way, the pressure - the feeling that people depended on him pushing him out of bed every morning, the sense of knowing his purpose in life - but in another way… this was so much nicer, being able to just _be_ for a change, not having to pretend he had all the answers, even when he really didn't and was putting everyone in danger and-

Well, that hadn't gone well in the past.

But he was trying now, to ask when he wasn't sure. It would be easier of the others would actually _answer him._

Smellerbee sighed, but followed it up with words, "I don't know, Jet. Li's a tricky guy. You did what you thought was best in a difficult situation."

That wasn't an answer at all. But it was the best he was going to get. "Do you think he'll still be there when we get back?" _Assuming we do._ But there was no point in agonising over what-ifs like that.

Longshot tapped on the brim of his hat. _"He didn't say he would be. But he seemed like he wanted to."_

So they had to trust in Li's nerve – hope he'd keep trusting them long enough.

Jet looked over his shoulder at the shrinking figure. It hadn't moved an inch in the time they'd been walking.

An ostrich-horse stood next to the figure. Fast, plenty of stamina. Recently fed.

Li had a pouch of coin to sustain him – one with just enough to let him think he didn't need them. Not enough to keep him alive, not in the long term.

The only way they could keep helping him was if he let them, and he would only let them if he thought he could trust them.

_(A figure hunched protectively over a bowl; a defensive tension that didn't belong in a friendly spar; sharp eyes watching them throughout every interaction. Interactions that swayed between submission and defiance as he tested his boundaries and retreated into his shell over and over.)_

Somewhere in his chest, Jet ached.

-line break-

Zuko waited until they were less than dots on the horizon. He noted their position in relation to the sun, then stepped inside the eatery.

"I need three days' worth of rations."

-line break-

Zuko wished he could be offended by the ridiculous sum of money in the small coin pouch. This was not 'the just barely enough for a few days if he was careful' amount he had assumed he would find (which would already be more than he'd earned, especially as they hadn't taken him with them (to almost certain doom, but it would be his choice and at least he'd _know_)). This much coin would last him a few weeks, at least. This could, if he was careful, keep him long enough to find somewhere he could earn more money, enough to keep him going permanently.

He knew that he should keep the money and split before the others came back with whichever bounty hunters were after him. It didn't matter that he'd basically promised he'd stay here, that he wouldn't leave them behind; that he didn't want to be _alone_ anymore-

And that was the crux of it. He'd known hunger could make him weak, known insomnia could cloud his thoughts; he'd never have guessed that it'd be simple isolation that'd do him in.

He craved their simple conversation like he craved food.

He leapt onto Song, and let her take him back to his frie- potential allies.

-line break-

The Rough Rhinos were a tough-looking bunch of bastards.

Set upon fierce, barely controllable beasts, the trio each wielded a different weapon. One was a bombardier, carrying explosives in practically every nook of his armour; one held bolas, heavy black chains ending in heavier rounds weights, the other end of the chains secured around his waist. The last was on the ground, getting up close and personal with the villagers (who likely knew nothing anyway), waving his weapon - a long metal pole with a knife on the end instead of a spearhead – under their noses threateningly.

In the dimness of the approaching twilight, their weapons shone with the amber light of lanterns.

More than once, Jet found his hands inching towards his swords as he watched the villagers' distress, but managed to stay his hand. He didn't know enough yet; he needed to plan this properly. Maybe these rhino guys were just coasting by on intimidation, which would make them an easy enough fight, but they moved like professionals, and were sent after Li besides. Jet had only known the other boy for a day, but it was clear he wouldn't let himself be taken down without giving his all, regardless of who he was fighting.

A group could only bluff their way so far, and a fight with Li would kill at least one of them if they weren't very, _very_, careful - they'd need some skill to back up their superior numbers and armour if they wanted to make it out of this without casualties.

…But Li wouldn't be able to take all of them.

As he watched, Jet could almost swear that they looked familiar, but he would be willing to place the blame for _that_ on their Komodo Rhinos (_backlit by fire, the beasts tore through his town, his home, his parents, his life)._

(It had been years, but he knew that man's face better than his own, seared into his brain so he saw it whenever he closed his eyes.)

He and his Freedom Fighters (all two of them) were hidden on a rooftop (for want of a tree, a forest, to hide away in), watching the trio shake down the locals for information on a boy with a scar, shoving a piece of paper – _Li had _posters?_ What on _Earth_ did he do?_ – in their faces.

He couldn't make out the page at their distance, especially in the half-dark, but Longshot assured him that, from what he could see, Li used to have appalling hair (he seemed set on this point, enough to make Jet equal parts concerned and morbidly curious about how terrible Li's hair had been), and had cut it all off in an effort to make himself less recognisable.

(Difficult thing to do, with a scar like his – not just noticeable, but memorable. Harder to do when he moved half like a predator, half like a kid who ran away from home - scared and dangerous and guilty and vicious all at once. Li caught the eye in every way he didn't want to.)

Down in the crowded (but not bustling) street below, one of the rhinos reared, only to be quelled by its rider twisting its horns, turning its head until it almost fell on its side. When released, it shook its huge head once to dispel the feeling, but submitted to its master.

The great grey brutes put Jet on edge in a way he didn't want to be when he was due for a fight. They should make him angry, should remind him why he fights, why he's like this, but he's not angry. He's… something else. Something worse. Something he doesn't want to ever be again; shouldn't be just because of these stupid lizards.

He's not _afraid_. He's not. He'll prove it too, when he takes the three of them out - his friends right behind him - to protect someone else he's rapidly coming to care for.

The sound of stomping feet told Jet his day was going to be worse than expected.

There weren't three Fire Nation mercenaries. There were five.

Jet turned to survey the newcomers – there was an archer (with a flame on his bow and tattoos on his face, could he _be _any more dramatic), which took away the one advantage he'd been hoping would turn their tides, and there was.

He knew that face.

He would never forget that face.

Across the street but fast approaching, _that face_ called out a greeting to the Rough Rhinos from the back of his own lizard. He blurred, turning red and black and red again. The town was on fire.

Jet couldn't breathe.

He tensed. Watched. Tried to listen over the roaring.

_That face_ smiled.

Jet leapt.

-line break-

Zuko had known they weren't trustworthy. He had. They weren't trying to help him; they wanted his trust because they wanted something from him. They'd never denied it either – but they'd told him they wanted him for themselves. Not to… hand over.

To the Fire Nation.

To Azula.

To Father.

They were camped out on a rooftop, spying on the Rough Rhinos, which distracted them from him, camping out on a rooftop and spying on the Freedom Fighters.

It was fascinating, watching them prepare for a fight – _a fight?_ No, that's not right. But as he looked closer at their postures, their expressions, the way Jet gripped his swords and Smellerbee calmed him with a hand on his arm, there was no other conclusion he could come to.

They were there for a fight. But they must have been able to hear the men talking about the boy they were after – a boy with a scar like his.

…it wasn't a coincidence that they were here. It couldn't be. They knew these men were after him, and had come here to see them. They were anticipating a fight, but would they initiate it?

Maybe they were just being cautious about working with Fire Nation men - it was obvious the Fire Nation had hurt them before.

If they knew who he was, they wouldn't hesitate to hand him over to his executioners, regardless of who was asking.

It couldn't be much longer before they acted, and he found out what they wanted.

Scratch that. He wouldn't get his answers for a while: there were more incoming. An archer (Yuyan, judging by the facial tattoos) and a weapon-less man who had to be a Firebender, both with their own Komodo Rhinos

The only safe way to take these guys out would be one at a time, preferably without their huge Kimono Rhinos there to protect them.

There was no way Jet and his friends wouldn't strike them when they were all together. Not unless they were idiots.

(They could still approach them to make a deal. He couldn't forget that that was just as valid an option.)

…as it turned out, however, they were idiots.

-line break-

Jet had gone mad.

Smellerbee and Longshot could only watch as he threw himself at five professional Fire Nation mercenaries.

Longshot sent a flurry of arrows at them, trying to distract those closest to Jet, while Smellerbee launched herself off the rooftop after Jet, throwing a few carved wooden projectiles towards their archer, hoping to distract him long enough for her and Jet to get to some kind of cover.

The men didn't hesitate in their counterattack. Jet was immediately on the defensive – because _of course _he was, it was worse than two-to-one on the ground, and Smellerbee was too far from him to guard his flank – dodging around their various weapons, trying to deflect their attacks so that they struck the men instead of him, all while forcing himself through their ranks towards their Firebender and archer, the latter of which was distracted, trying to take out Longshot first, as Longshot did the same.

Smellerbee wanted to make her way to him, watch his back and have him watch hers, but he moved too quickly through the men; there was no safe way to follow him. She had enough on her plate just trying to keep herself alive.

Soon, all thoughts of tactics or the end of the fight fled from her head – she could only think of the weapons in her hands and the enemies around her.

In the back of her mind she was aware of the falling sand – the hourglass had been overturned, and they didn't have long before Longshot ran out of ammo, and they would be stuck fighting with no one behind them.

Skilled and practised though she was, the wasn't accustomed to fighting like this – fighting without the trees there to carry them above their enemies and take the blows they couldn't block; without a dozen friends behind her to watch her back, rather than a single mad leader and a dwindling supply of arrows.

It wasn't long before she was hit.

Heavy black bolas caught her on the side, and her armour could only protect her from so much. Her small stature, normally serving well for slipping through defences and dodging weapons, worked against her as she was thrown from the fight to hit a building. She heard the bricks crumble slightly behind her.

Seeing no men coming directly for her, she gave herself a moment to breathe and take stock of herself before she stood, bracing herself against a wall.

She ached everywhere. Her back had taken the brunt of it when she hit the wall, but the bolas themselves had got her in her side, which was partially unprotected for the sake of mobility. Not that it had helped her.

Her chest-plate was dented, probably beyond repair, digging into her ribs. Better that than her chest.

Nothing was bleeding, and nothing seemed broken. She'd find out for sure when the fight was properly over and the buzzing under her skin faded. But she didn't have time for that; as soon as she could collect herself, she had to get back to Jet.

She didn't even have time for that, however. The spearman had realised she was still alive and was coming for her.

She pulled more knives from her sleeves, her daggers small and comfortable and familiar in her palm, paltry compared to the longer reach of his weapon and arm.

Where he was sat on his Komodo Rhino, his feet were level with her head; the snarling creature's horns were levelled at her chest, protected only by cloth under the ruined armour.

She craned her neck to see him, silhouetted against the fading sunset and amber lanterns, casting her in darkness.

The arrows had stopped coming. Jet didn't seem to have noticed her following him into the fight. She pulled herself into a stance, still half-braced against the wall, and glowered at the man before her.

A shadow dropped onto the rhino behind him, forcing him from the beast's back with a savage kick, following the move with a slice to his back. Blood coated the dirt where he landed. Smellerbee didn't hesitate to finish him off. Her little knives were plenty good for that, at least.

Atop the rhino, the shadow moved to take out another of the men, the one with the bolas, spooking his rhino with a slash to its hide and forcing it and its rider to leave the fight. Smellerbee used the spearman's rhino, now abandoned and unconcerned with the fight, to get the height she needed to see the changes in the battle.

Longshot was back in the fight, having taken the few moments he needed to collect the arrows the other archer had sent at him. The enemy archer was throwing arrows with pitiful results, powerful arms unable to maintain force and accuracy without help. The shattered remains of his bow decorated the ground below him.

Accepting defeat without his weapon, he slid off his rhino to shelter himself from his own arrows, leaving his two remaining allies to defend him.

Jet and the Shadow – not a shadow, a man dressed in black clothes and a blue mask, familiar in a way she couldn't place – fought side by side, watching each other's backs. Jet was focused on the firebender, while the Shadow deflected the bombardier's explosives, sending them back at him.

Both of them fought hard but with limited success – Jet was shifting constantly to dodge the Firebender's blasts, stuck on the defensive, one arm deadweight with blood darkening the cloth; while the Shadow's hits were useless against the bombardier's heavy armour, and getting slower besides. If he was injured, she couldn't tell through the dark cloth and expressionless mask.

Smellerbee moved to join them, running across the rhino's back, but was forced back by an errant fire blast. When she'd blinked away the scorching white, Jet was on the ground, and the Shadow was alone in the fight. Looking down the street, she saw the fourth mercenary, the one with the bolas, returning on his newly calmed Komodo Rhino.

She diverted from the men to deal with Jet, dragging him out of the way of the stomping feet of the Komodo Rhinos and beating his smouldering shirt. Blood dribbled from the back of his head. He didn't react to her ministrations.

The arrows had stopped again, for good this time. Longshot was at ground level, throwing Jet across his shoulders, and pulling her away from the ongoing fight to hide in an alleyway. He bled from multiple scratches across his arms and chest, where he hadn't quite managed to dodge the incoming arrows.

Behind them came a sharp cry, as the Shadow fell from the back of a rhino, blown away by an explosive. He landed on the other side of the street, unmoving.

Closer to them, his weapons fell with a clatter.

Dual dao. Blue handled, expertly cared for. Expertly wielded.

_(No, it couldn't be…)_

Across the street, the mercenaries grabbed the Shadow where he was lain. Like a puppet with its strings cut, the powerful swordsman was limp in their arms, manhandled into steel cuffs and slung over the back of a rhino.

The mask had been removed and was thrown away into the street any old rubbish. It landed at her feet, blue face scowling at her with white fangs and red eyes. The Blue Spirit. Behind the fearsome mask was pale skin, like that of a corpse, and a noble face, one side angry even when unconscious.

She didn't know how she didn't realise it before; why she'd thought there was any other person it could be.

Struggling to breathe through her broken armour, with a disarmed Longshot and unconscious Jet beside her, she watched the mercenaries drag Li away.


	5. 1-5

Jet awoke to the rapid-fire pecking of a furious ostrich-horse. Smellerbee and Longshot gave it a second to work out its anger before they pulled it away from him.

Song, now unable to peck her vicious revenge upon he-who-took-baby-chick, slumped on the ground with a mournful wail.

Jet sat up, wincing as he pulled on some unknown injury on his left shoulder. He opened his mouth to ask them _what in the name of the spirits happened?_ because he couldn't remember anything beyond _fighting_, but when he tried to speak all that came out was a low groan at the sudden pounding sensation in his skull.

He fought to stay upright and to keep his stomach where he wanted it, closing his eyes and counting his breaths.

When he opened his eyes, everything was swimming. From what little he could see, Smellerbee and Longshot were the opposite of sympathetic to his situation. He must have fucked up somehow.

"What did I do?" he managed to ask.

The half-glares continued. Then: "You fucked up. Severely."

Well, at least he was right about something. It wasn't a reassurance.

-line break-

Smellerbee, aware that a lecture is only ever wasted when her victim couldn't hear her, waited for Jet to look semi-conscious before she started whisper-yelling.

_"What were you thinking?"_

He wasn't.

"You threw yourself into battle at – quite literally – the worst time possible!"

Jet blinked at her. Maybe he still wasn't awake enough for a lecture. "What happened?" he asked.

The idiot had the audacity to look _sorry_. Sure, he definitely needed to be, but it wasn't fair on her to have to see that expression before she was done grilling him. (She knew it was going to hurt him, remembering what he did, but she knew she couldn't let it happen again, knew she had to make it hurt to be sure it could never happen again.)

She reminded herself of what Jet had done, saw Li's limp form in her mind's eye, and steeled herself for the shouting match.

-line break-

Zuko tried to take some satisfaction from his captors being too injured to risk transporting him.

It almost made the cell - the damp and dark and _cold_ cell – worth it. The chains, not so much. The men had put so much effort into holding him that it could actually work – he was, after all, an expert in breaking _into_ places; he didn't have any practice at breaking out. Of course he'd let himself get into this much trouble the first time in three years he didn't have Uncle there to watch his back.

He'd just have to sort it out himself. He'd broken into far tougher places before, with far worse injuries – the siege of the Northern Water Tribe came to mind – one little cell in a petty Earth Kingdom village wasn't going to stop him.

He'd break out of here, just as soon as his breath evened out.

(His left side ached, the pain turning sharp whenever he took anything but the shallowest of breaths. He couldn't sit himself up, couldn't adjust how his ribs sat, not when he could barely keep his eyes open - not when his hands were attached to the wall, the thick iron manacles only burning him when he tried to melt them.)

(He wasn't getting out of there, and no one was coming for him. No one, save Azula.)

His breathing only got worse.

-line break-

The battle was a blur of swords and fire and rhinos - of convenient and inconvenient arrows showing up at random intervals, of a shadow at his back, quick, lethal, silent. How much of that fight was real?

Jet had been angry –_ furious_ – in a way he'd previously thought he'd managed to shed - but he didn't know _why._

"What did I do?" he asked again.

"We were planning," Smellerbee said, pacing in front of where he was sat in a dusty alleyway. "It was five of them to the three of us, and we knew they'd have some bark to their bite if they were after Li – intimidation or brute strength wouldn't work with _him_, y'know – and then you just jumped right at them, no warning for us or anything," she leaned forwards, poking him in the forehead, "No plan, no _nothing_."

He could remember planning. He felt the rough brick of the rooftop they'd hidden on under his palms, remembered Longshot's quip about Li on the posters, his anger at the men for bullying the villagers – but not enough anger for him to fly off the handle like that.

He remembered the backup arriving, an archer and-

_"SHIT!"_

It couldn't be… he couldn't have…

But it was.

And he did.

Jet clutched at his head as the ache pulsed sharply. The blur of the fight crystallised into sharp fragments – dodging fire blasts, striking in at the man _(that man)_, making him bleed, the shadow behind his back-

"Who was that?" He looked up at his friends. "The other guy? Where did he come from?"

Smellerbee shoved something in his hands, a grinning blue mask, white fangs chipped from the wear-and-tear of fighting.

The Blue Spirit.

The Blue. _Fucking._ Spirit.

He fought alongside _The Blue Spirit._

(There was more to come, he knew; this was only going to get worse. But he couldn't help the internal squeal of childish glee, the thrill that he had not only met the guy - the man who broke into the Pohuai Stronghold to rescue the Avatar, who'd been stealing from and bothering Fire Nation ships and outposts all across the coast for years, who'd diverted and falsified Fire Nation intelligence to ruin their hunt for the Avatar; the _expert_ in pissing off the Fire Nation - but had watched his back in a fight against the Fire Nation.)

_(The emotional high would only lend velocity to his fall.)_

He was holding The Blue Spirit's mask. He stared into the empty eyes and angered expression, and they stared back at him.

He looked up at Smellerbee. "Why do we have this?"

Smellerbee raised an eyebrow and said nothing. She was still pissed at him for the stunt he'd pulled.

(And yes, he definitely shouldn't have done that, but they'd all got out of it okay, and those Fire guys were in way worse shape than them so it would be easy enough to finish them off. Everything had worked out just fine.)

Longshot tapped something on the brim of his hat. But Jet must have misheard.

_(He hadn't misheard.)_

A cold pit dropped into his stomach. (Strange, how fire always made him so _cold _inside.)

"He was captured." Jet spoke to the mask in a hollow voice, preferring its vicious grin to his friends' judging looks. "Because of me."

None of them would have been in that situation if it wasn't for him. They could have dealt with those guys safely - no one would have been hurt, The Blue Spirit wouldn't have been captured.

(They wouldn't have had this delay in getting back to Li, who might leave if they're not back in time.)

The three of them had only been in that situation to protect Jet. Jet was supposed to be the one protecting _them._

"Yup," Smellerbee agreed with all his horrible and fair thoughts, "Now the Fire Nation knows what he looks like."

His eyes itched. His throat burned like it was full of smoke.

Smellerbee didn't relent.

(He deserved it. That was the thing about this – this was just the consequences of his actions, entirely preventable, entirely his fault. She wouldn't have been digging a hole in his chest if he didn't deserve it.)

She knelt down to his eye level. "Do you want the worse news?"

"There's worse news?" _How could this get any worse?_

Her voice softened a little. Her expression didn't. "If you need a minute first-"

"Just tell me." Best to take all the hits in succession, he decided, than to drag this out.

Smellerbee took his chin, gently, turning his head towards Song the Ostrich-Horse.

_Li's_ Ostrich-Horse.

Wait - why was she-

_Oh._

Oh no.

-line break-

Zuko bit the inside of his cheek and pretended he didn't hear the sickening pop of his left thumb dislocating. He allowed himself a few breaths' rest before pulling his injured hand out of the manacle, suppressing a whimper at the pressure placed upon the tender joint.

He pulled himself to sit upright, bracing himself with the heel of his hand against the floor, pretending to himself that every movement of his hand wasn't _absolute agony_. He stretched out his torso, breathing deeply and carefully poking at his injured ribs. They hurt like a mother, but nothing was moving around in there. They were probably (not) just bruised. It wasn't bad enough to keep him from fighting; he could work with this.

He inspected his still manacled hand, forcing down a wave of nausea and an ugly urge to sob at what he saw. The shackle was attached to the wall, instead of being attached to the other shackle and wrapped around something. Which meant his hand was still attached, and he'd have to free it in the same way.

He took a deep breath and forced down the worry. He had to get out of there, or things would get much worse. He had to do what he had to do to escape. It wasn't worth worrying about what he was going to do. He didn't have a choice.

He tore a strip of fabric from his tunic to bite down on, and a few more to wrap around his left wrist, where he'd burned himself earlier trying to melt the manacle. Slipping the cuff had opened up the sores, a layer of skin clinging to the heated metal.

He couldn't delay himself any more.

He took a hold of his injured thumb with his good hand, ready to force it back into place. (It was a good policy to always have at least one (semi-)functioning thumb.)

He closed his eyes, biting down pre-emptively, and-

His cell door opened. One of the Rough Rhinos stood in the doorway, a jug of water in hand and a bowl in the other.

There was a long awkward silence. Zuko calculated how long it would take to fix this thumb, pop out his right one, slip the other cuff and knock the guy out.

He wouldn't have enough time.

He felt overly conscious of his mouth full of fabric. His hunched crouch on the dirty floor. His obvious – _weak _– pain at dislocating his thumb.

The man – the archer, he had the Yuyan tattoos (but still no bow, he was satisfied to see) – put the jug and bowl on the floor, then stepped out the room to yell for one of the others, who quickly came to help him.

Zuko didn't bother fighting when the firebender showed up, hands already lit in preparation for a fight.

The firebender replaced his shackles, half-melting and warping the metal with his bending, making them tighter – too tight for him to slip again. He made sure to do this while Zuko's hands were _in_ the shackles, not bothering to cool the metal afterwards, and refusing to leave Zuko his rags to protect his wrists.

Though he couldn't see it past the metal, Zuko knew the circles around his wrists – over an inch thick - would scar.

They took the food with them when they left, giving him a kick to his injured ribs instead.

Zuko tried to take a deep breath - to centre himself; to push the pain aside and make a new plan - but it caught on the way out. On his ribs or a sob, he wasn't quite sure.

He tried to sit up, but his ribs failed him. His struggles jostled his wrists, his still dislocated thumb, added to the strain on his shoulders brought on by their position. He tried to breathe through the pain, but deep breaths were impossible.

He couldn't get out in this state. There was no way for him to escape - he'd abandoned Uncle and his crew was dead and his boat was gone and _no one_ was looking for him.

But, Agni, that wasn't true – he only _wished _no one was looking for him. Azula would be there soon enough.

And he wasn't going to escape.

-line break-

"There's only one entrance-"

"-but a window in a cell at the end of the block-"

_"Is it his?"_

"I don't know."

"We'll have to scout it out-"

"We don't have the time-"

_"We can't afford to mess this up. We have to do it properly."_

A sigh. "I know. But the thought of him in there-"

"We all know who's fault that is-"

"I'm worried about him. I don't want to leave him there any longer than we have to."

_"We won't. We'll be on the road by morning."_

-line break-

There was something going on. A brief shout down the hall; a crunch of metal on stone; the soft twang of a bowstring (but he'd destroyed the archer's bow, hadn't he?).

Swift pattering footsteps approached his cell. Zuko clenched his fists behind his back, twitching as he broke the scabs on his wrists, wincing at the movement to his thumb. He tried to brace himself for whatever was coming, levelling a glare at the door (unable to do much else).

The door opened, and he found himself glaring at nothing. He lowered his gaze to find Smellerbee, of all people, backlit by the braziers in the hall. In one hand, she held a short dagger. The other, a bundle, which she dropped on the ground.

He blinked. "What?"

_What was she doing here?_

Her face broke into a relieved grin. Rushing towards him, she dropped to her knees and wrapped her arm around him in a hug. He stiffened in the unfamiliar hold.

"I'm so glad you're okay!" she shouted in his ear.

This didn't make any sense. "Why are you here?"

She pulled back and gave him a confused look. "Because Jet and Longshot need to keep the other Rhino guys off our backs while I get you out. Plus, I'm the best at picking locks."

Without further ado, she settled behind him to look at his shackles, hissing between her teeth at the sight of his wrists.

He twisted to try to look at her, not liking her being somewhere he couldn't see her while she was holding a knife, but his ribs didn't appreciate the twisting. He sucked in a pained breath and forced himself to stop.

There was a click as the right shackle came off, taking some skin with it. He brought his hand in front of him gratefully, shaking out his shoulder and checking on his wrist. The top layer of skin was torn, mostly gone, though it was hard to be certain under the blood. Some of the remaining scabs were black and flaky, like burnt pig-chicken.

Smellerbee moved to his other side. She paused, taking a gentle hold of his forearm. He tried not to whimper as she jostled his thumb, harsh with it in her ignorance, sending pain like hot liquid rushing almost to his elbow.

Or maybe that was just the blood as the scabs split apart.

"Spirits, Li," she half-whispered, almost to herself. "Why would you do that to yourself? You had to know that cuff was too tight."

"Wasn't when I did it," he half-panted, something rough in his throat. "Would have made it out if they hadn't caught me at it."

"You didn't have to at all." She clucked her tongue, all bossy and huffy at him, while she fiddled with the lock. "What was so wrong with just waiting for us?"

He chuckled despite himself. "That's a pretty quick way to die."

She froze beside him, hands unmoving on his shackle. "You…"

He turned to try to see her, but her face was turned away. He twisted a little too far and remembered why he hadn't been looking at her in the first place when his ribs screamed at him.

"What?" he asked her instead, no idea why she'd stopped picking the locks. Did he do something wrong? (Had she come here just to leave him trapped? To taunt him and then run off?)

"You're an idiot," she said. There was a click as the lock came undone.

She came around to sit in front of him, carefully holding his hand in hers.

"What do you- ah!" he yelped as she popped his thumb back in. He gave her a dirty look as he checked his thumb, rotating it in its socket. (It hurt, but not much - he'd still be able to grip his swords, which was all he needed.)

"Don't give me that look, you know that was the best way to do it-" he _did_ know that, but no way would he admit it "-and you thought we weren't coming for you, you big idiot."

She poked him in the chest.

He frowned. She continued to not make sense. "Why on Earth would I expect you to come for me? That's not – I don't even get why you _did_-"

-line break-

Smellerbee was overcome with an increasing urge to kill everyone Li had ever worked with. Slowly.

She grabbed his good hand – well, his _better_ hand, neither of them were in great shape – and towed him out of the room, stooping to grab the bundle of his swords and mask she'd left at the door and passing them to him.

"Can you fight?"

"Of course." He gripped his swords with the barest wince, covering his grimace with his mask.

(Was that all the mask was for? Probably not, but she'd have to make sure he didn't use it to pretend he wasn't hurt in the future. That seemed like a very _Li_ thing to do.)

He walked on, towards the sounds of conflict. There was something off about the sound of his breathing – hopefully just a minor issue with his ribs, but potentially not. It wasn't like he would tell her if she asked.

Not that there was anything she could do about it at that moment. She knew he'd join in the fighting regardless of what she said (and with their reduced number, they'd likely be needing his help), and she wouldn't have a chance to patch him up until after the fight, if he'd let her.

Li kept himself at an arm's length from her, form tense even in the moment of calm before they had to fight. He flinched as she studied him, shying away under her concern, her attention.

Even now, it wasn't just the Rhinos he feared.

-line break-

Jet ignored the pain in his chest as his breaths came harder and harder. He was swamped in smoke from when the Firebender's shots had gone wide, catching on anything nearby. His muscles burned from the prolonged fight, and he felt the ache of injuries that hadn't even begun to heal.

He ducked away from another fire blast, hiding in the deep shadows made by the moonless night and the overbright flames. The Firebender was easy enough to spot. The man with bolas was tall and broad and loud, his silhouette defined by fire. Jet was smaller and quicker and far less bold - not how he preferred to fight, but the way he had to if he wanted to survive.

(He knew well it wasn't just himself he was protecting, that taste and style had to take a backseat to sheer practicality if he wanted to keep everyone alive. Even weakened, these rhino guys were a huge step up from patrols in a forest and the occasional soldier camp.)

Jet forced himself to stay in the present, not to think about just who he was fighting – he couldn't afford to think about anything other than protecting his friends.

_(Everything around him was on fire. Everything was ashes and everyone was dying and-)_

The archer was a pool of blood by his feet – an idiot, helpless without his only weapon, who'd wandered into the fight regardless. The bombardier had fallen to Longshot's arrows, the bowman's keen eye finding the flaws in his heavy metal armour.

The rhinos themselves had been easy enough to scare away – a flaw Li had exploited before, apparently - which removed his adversaries' advantages of height and weight and tri-horned-heads.

Jet was focused on keeping the pair from the entrance, keeping them from reaching Bee and Li before they were ready. Assuming Li would even be able to fight. _(Assuming he was still…)_

Longshot occupied one of the men while Jet dealt with the other. They switched as often as they could, kept the men from predicting their attacks. It was a stalemate for the moment, but Jet knew he could only fight for so long before he couldn't anymore. He just had to hold out until the others were clear. Hopefully, not for much longer.

Jet knew his limits well.

(He knew he didn't have much longer.)

He sprinted through the shadows to strike at the man with bolas, but, when he reached him, found the action was unnecessary. A grinning Shadow leapt from nowhere to slash at his chest, his movements like smoke as he effortlessly dodged around the deadly weapon.

The man staggered back, clutching at shallow wounds across his torso, his arms. Blood slicked his grip on his chains. He swiped at the Shadow, but the Shadow was nowhere to be seen.

Across the battleground, the Shadow appeared behind the Firebender without warning, the pommel of his sword slamming just above his collarbone. The man choked and his flames sputtered out. The Shadow didn't bother finishing him off, disappearing again.

Jet only realised he'd stopped fighting just to watch when the mercenary with bolas gurgled behind him, a sword jutting out of his chest. Jet blinked, and noticed Smellerbee by his side, tutting at the Shadow's actions.

"He really is the Blue Spirit," Jet said, awed at Li's skill, his grace, his savagery - and at his own luck for finding him.

"What he _is_ is an idiot," she grumbled. "He thought we weren't coming for him – he tried to break out on his own and everything! Plus, he's gone and done something to his ribs, and now he's throwing himself into _another_ fight."

Jet clenched his jaw. He hadn't even thought that Li wouldn't trust them, that he would have tried to escape because he thought no one was coming for him, but he really should have known better. If nothing else, they should have considered it when making their plans – what if he'd left before they got there? What if they'd moved him somewhere more secure, or injured him to keep him from trying again?

Li wiped off his swords on the dead man, then strode over to deal with the firebender, who was just getting his breath back and struggling to sit up. Jet watched him slit the man's throat impassively. The man's death should have meant something to him, he knew, but he was numb to it. He'd just had a lesson in getting caught up in vengeance, and he couldn't bring himself to care.

He shrugged off the long-buried grief and wrapped an arm around the kid next to him.

-line break-

They broke him out.

They _broke_ him out.

_They_ broke _him_ out.

They came here to save him - _what the fuck is going on?_

Zuko glanced over at Jet. He had one arm slung around Smellerbee's shoulder, and his head swivelled to look between Zuko and Longshot. He was keeping an eye on both of them, reassuring himself that they were all safe, that they were there with him.

For Smellerbee and Longshot, sure, that made sense – they were close friends and, as the leader, Jet was responsible for them. Jet had lost a lot of his friends recently, by the sound of things, and had been with those two for years, and while he trusted them to be able to handle themselves, seeing your friends in danger would make anyone cautious. His protective feelings for them were logical.

…which just made his actions even more illogical. He hadn't just been risking _himself_ to free Zuko – a person that, by all rights, he should hate – he'd been risking his 'kids' for him, too.

Jet had no reason to come for him in the first place - he had to still want something from him, nobody is that selfless. Nobody would do that for a stranger who was only in prison because he fucked up and got caught.

Zuko wasn't even meant to join the fight in the first place – was only there because he'd done something Jet had specifically asked him not to do, so his fuck-up and subsequent capture was entirely _his _fault. Jet was under no obligation to help him.

(It was possible that he'd been honest with him before, that he was really just trying to help him, to bring him into his group, to look after him and keep him safe because that's what he _did,_ apparently. They hadn't been there to sell him out, after all, so they must have been there to take those guys out, to protect him.

Maybe he actually could be trusted.)

None of this made sense. He didn't deserve to have them come after him.

What did they want in return? What could he possibly give them?

-line break-

The fight was over; or, at least, one of the fights was over. They'd taken themselves outside of the town - to leave and make camp, Jet had thought; to argue, Li had decided.

They'd had one moment of calm as Song curled her neck around her little-baby-chick-Li, as Li whispered kind words to her and petted her beak with one hand, stroking her back with the other, but it was broken quickly enough when he remembered that the rest of them were still there.

He was unwilling – _unable _– to accept that they just wanted to help him. That they wanted to make up for getting him put in there in the first place.

"Why are you so invested in me anyway?" he half-yelled at Jet in frustration as their argument circled. "People don't just… people don't do things like that – not for strangers. Not-" He cut himself off, something like grief on his face. He refused to understand – couldn't understand. "What do you _want_ from me?"

He watched them closely, posture tense, expression lost. His hand twitched towards the swords at his hip. Jet watched the twitch, pushed back the hurt – Li was just scared; it was too soon to expect someone like him to trust. Not even after everything that had happened. A gesture like that – a gesture of simply _fixing their own mistake_ – was too big for him to understand. He couldn't see that helping him was the _right_ thing to do, that Jet was _responsible _for what had happened, that _anyone _with their skill set would have done the same thing.

Jet just had to work harder. He'd have Li's trust eventually.

He wished he could just throw some pretty words at the problem and hide in the vaguery. It would have worked with Katara. It _had_ worked with his kids, over and over again, for years upon years _(until it suddenly hadn't)._ It had become second nature, almost, after so many years of lying for people's best interests.

It would be the fastest way to drive Li away.

"You're just like all the rest of my kids," he said instead, struggling to hold his gaze _(but he wouldn't let _words_ stop him)_. "They were…"

(Past tense. Not that he could have finished that sentence anyway.)

Li's eyes were attentive on his face, scrutinising his expression, judging his honesty. He was listening.

That was good because this would be too difficult to repeat; he'd barely even spoken to Smellerbee and Longshot about what had happened, about what they and everyone else had meant to him. The words burned like acid – like fire – in the back of his throat. But they'd be worth saying if it got Li to stick around.

"I did something stupid," he said, "nearly got us all killed. Not – not everyone made it out. And what I'd done – what I'd tried to do… thank the spirits I failed. It was-" He paused and took a breath. "In trying to do what I thought was right, I almost did something awful. And I didn't even see it and-"

He stopped. The worst of it was over, he knew, but he'd never let himself think about all the people – the innocent people he was supposed to _protect_ – he'd almost killed. Murdered.

He'd never acknowledged that what he'd done was wrong, that he hadn't known the difference between right and wrong - and for how long? How long did he spend doing awful things without realising? Even now he couldn't be sure.

(What did he teach his kids? How many things did he do wrong – things he still couldn't see? Was he a good person yet? Would he ever be? Did he deserve to be?)

"I need to do something good, for someone." He looked up at Li and met his eyes. Li returned the look steadily. "I need to rebuild what I had, but to do it for the right reasons this time – I want to lead people again, but to _help_ them, and not for the sake of having followers, of having that… that _power_… I want to have people around me, to look after them - but I want to do it for _them_, not for me. I want to try to do the right thing, again.

"I… I need to prove to myself that I'm not ruined for it, that I can-"

"I understand," Li said, and Jet could see in his face, instantly, that he did. "I've done some things… things that I don't feel proud of; things that were supposed to be the right thing. Or maybe they weren't, the thing is that I can't tell either. I-" He broke eye-contact, leaning back against Song.

"I want to fix things with my enemies, assure them that I'm done with fighting them, that they don't have to worry about me showing up and ruining their day anymore - but that's… it's _wrong_. I can't. Switching sides, abandoning my…"

He didn't seem to know how to finish that sentence, didn't know what to think about whatever he'd been doing before - or whoever he may have been working with.

"The more I think about it – about what I _tried_ to do, and what I _did_ in trying - the less proud I am… but I'm not ready to make reparations either, even though I know exactly how to do that."

His hand dropped away from his swords, one coming up to rub at the opposite arm. His voice dropped lower. "I think I was loyal to the wrong people." His left hand twitched upwards, towards his face, seemingly without his consent or knowledge. Jet couldn't keep his eyes from darting to his scar, and his stomach clenched at the implications.

"I don't know that I wouldn't go running back to them if they told me they'd take me. That I wouldn't go back to trying to complete my mission if the opportunity presented itself. I know people would be hurt if I succeeded, people that I _know_ aren't as bad as I'd been told - a threat and an enemy, perhaps, but evil?"

His hands twisted together in front of him, the movement seemingly unconscious.

Behind him, Song nudged him gently, comfortingly. He barely seemed to notice her.

(Jet wondered if the kids who'd left him - the kids who'd _survived_ – would say the same thing about him. That they shouldn't have trusted him and he'd led them astray and they regretted their loyalty. Jet wondered if he was the right person for Li to work with – maybe he could be, and Li could be perfect for him in turn, with them both being conscious of the other's flaws... or perhaps their interlocking baggage would drag them both down a dark path.

But Li didn't have anywhere else to go. It was them or death as long as they were travelling. Jet couldn't let him leave, even if it would be for his own good, in the long run, not when he'd die in the short run. All he could do was hope it would work out for the best.)

"Even though," Li continued, faster now, too caught up in explaining his actions, possibly for the first time, "Even though I know I should really be trying to make it up to the people I hurt, and I know that I can, that there are so many ways I can help them, so many things I could do for them that no others could do and it would be so easy and they're… well, they don't like me but some of them would be willing to listen, I think." He took a deep breath, then let it out; his eyes fixed on the ground. "I could fix things so easily."

His guilt spilled into the air with too many words, rushing out of him after being bottled up for far too long.

Li's breath caught with some emotion. "But if I do that I'm a traitor and…" he swallowed, hands twisting themselves around each other. "I'm not ready to start being a good person and it's horrible to know that – but would I be a good person, making amends with my enemies? Or would it be wrong – _I don't know._

"It scares me," he said, "Not being able to trust myself to do the right thing, not knowing what even _is _right anymore," he looked up to meet Jet's eye again. There was a little more strength in his voice when he next spoke. "I still don't think I'm someone you want, not if you knew the full story, but... maybe we can help each other."

_Someone Li had trusted had taught Li that the wrong thing was right, and he was struggling to muddle it out for himself._

Even so, Jet's next breath came easily, more so than it had in months. He had a chance to try this again, to heal someone who'd been hurt in the same way Jet had hurt his kids in the past. It stung, but he knew he needed Li beside him.

"You'll stick around then?" he asked.

Li flinched, softness vanishing at the thought of commitment.

Jet eased up a little. He'd been willing to settle before, and it seemed that the best way to keep Li happy was to avoid tying him down. "The next town, then?"

The tension dropped from his shoulders easily. Jet remembered the time one of his kids had found a little racoon-cat, how it would go limp if you scratched its itches in just the right way (how it would claw and scratch, hurting itself more than its keepers, if you held it too tightly - until the fateful day it scratched so hard that one of his kids had dropped it from a treetop platform).

"The next town, at least," he offered a half-smile. "But I'm…not opposed to Ba Sing Se. Maybe I could be a good person there."

Jet laid a careful hand on his shoulder and Li didn't even flinch. He pulled him into a half hug. Li smiled, one hand coming up to return the gesture.

**AN: This concludes the first arc. On ao3, the website this was written for originally, this is the end of a story, and the next part would be another new story, as I mentioned earlier. To keep things easy to find here, all instalments will be placed into one story, which means that there will be a short time jump between this arc and the next. I will try to provide all the necessary context but feel free to ask if you're confused at all :)**


	6. 2-1

**AN/ Context: this chapter and the next two are both set in the second instalment in the series on ao3. The next twp chapters will be fluff, and relatively short as a result. There is a slight time jump between the last chapter and the present.**

After a lifetime of only ever seeing villages of, at most, two hundred people, and spending most of it in a forest, any real city seems too big and too wealthy and too what-do-you-even-_need_-that-for-anyway. Jet forced himself not to gape at the grandeur, not when people having this much money when others were starving should be more important than how pretty everything was.

He spotted tall houses with windows of coloured glass, shaped into pictures; some miracle of complex piping created an ever-running spring in the centre of town, one which people could not drink from, but only admire; noblewomen walked past with gemstones encrusted into their hair and silver stitchwork hemming their flowing gowns.

A big thing that he didn't understand was people spending so much money to watch some people pretending to be other people, some of whom had actually accomplished something. What made theatre so much better than simple storytelling? Who had so much coin spare they could waste five meals' worth on one night out?

He was somewhat surprised by the response he got when he voiced this thought.

"For most of these people," Li said, his tone harsher than Jet had heard since that first mistrustful day, "a night at the theatre is the best night of the year. They'll save up for months for these plays, and the actors and actresses aren't just _pretending_ and then going home, they put in hundreds of hours of hard work for every new performance." His normally quiet and subdued attitude was rapidly disappearing; Jet sensed he'd struck on something important. Maybe he should have seen this coming, what with how Li had stared at the posters all over town like a painting of a loved one.

"There's singing and dancing and acrobatics," he continued, near shouting, "They can have hundreds of lines to learn, and they'll spend months not only learning the words but perfecting the delivery. They'll spend hours on stage every night for weeks and weeks on end – sometimes even twice a day – controlling every aspect of their expression and movement to be as real as they can. They're not taking people's money and giving them something worthless in exchange, their art is their hearts and souls and-"

He stopped abruptly, passion fading from him as quickly as it had appeared, his tiny step back from Jet revealing the fear he usually kept tightly under wraps – same as every time he showed some sense of self, every time he stepped over some non-existent line, he thought that _this time_ would be the one that Jet would… _something_.

Jet had to admit, the whole 'controlling every aspect of your expression and movement to convince someone of something' was tricky as fuck, even when you're trying to convince them of something that's_ true_. Something like, _'I'm not going to hurt you'._

(Maybe Li had a point about actors.)

Jet kept his body language open, hands far from his weapons and within clear sight. He forced himself not to tense, even as the sight of a friend afraid brought out his protective instincts. He wanted to hurt whoever had scared him, and clear that look from his face. But this wasn't an enemy he could fight.

Li was scared of _Jet_. Violence couldn't fix that.

No matter how much it frustrated him - he wanted nothing more than just _make_ Li trust him, _make_ him trust that he'd be safe with him - giving in to the impulse to just… _Force_. Something. Would only take him further from his goal.

Instead, he had to take this slowly, and teach him again and again that he was never going to hurt him.

He first considered asking a neutral question, something like "I take it you like theatre?" but Li had never reacted well to personal questions, even those that had obvious answers – or, at least, which seemed to. So a question like that, especially about something which seemed quite important to him, personally, wasn't on the table for the time being.

As much as he wished Li would just tell him when he didn't want to do something, Li hated disobeying orders, (hated being anything he thought Jet didn't want him to be,) so even though Jet always framed his questions as requests, Li only ever squirmed and tried to give him what he thought Jet wanted without actually giving him anything. He could never tell him no.

Add that to how he'd shown _emotion_ for once, and… well. Jet just had to be careful.

Or… he could cut to the chase and skip past his outburst. That had worked on occasion.

-line break-

_Why wasn't he saying anything what was he thinking what was he going to do_-

"I'm sorry, Li," was what Jet said, in Jet's voice (not anyone else's, he still looked like Jet, he was still his friend ally/leader), actually apologetic and sincere, like he cared about Zuko's feelings, like he actually was the one who needed to apologise.

Zuko didn't let his expression change, couldn't believe he'd spoken to him like that, couldn't believe he'd let them know about such a huge weak point. (_Did he mention his mother?_ He couldn't remember. Everything had turned into a blur as soon as he realised who he was talking to.)

"We just don't have the coin for us all to go – I doubt we could risk spending enough even for one ticket." Nothing Jet was saying made any sense.

"But I bet we could sneak in easily enough, if you don't mind the 'theft'."

Zuko stared at Jet for a long moment, trying to figure out what he was _actually_ saying behind the words he'd put out of his mouth. But Jet had played straight with him the second he'd asked him to and had only ever minced words when worried about Li's reactions. Every word out of his mouth was carefully constructed, but not to hurt him, not to lie to him, but to make sure Li felt as safe as possible.

He could still be trying to draw him in to a false sense of security. But that became less and less likely – and he wanted to believe it less and less – as time went on.

Was he actually offering to sneak into the theatre to watch _'The Tangled Treasure of the Tower'_ with him? Jet's open expression met his, patiently waiting for him to finished processing his offer.

"When I was little," Zuko said, caution slowing his words as he watched Jet's face, "I always wondered what these shows would look like from above."

Jet grinned.

-line break-

Settled in the rafters high above the show, they could see everything the actors and stagehands were doing. It was enlightening to see how much effort was put in behind the scenes. Li had known what he was talking about earlier – these people truly cared about their craft, and put a huge amount of pride and work into making each show the best they could be.

Jet startled when the lead actress started singing. Maybe that was what Li had been on about – insisting that it was a musical and not a play – but having one of the characters randomly start singing was just… odd. He hadn't quite believed that was a real thing.

The actress was doing a pretty good job, though – it had to be difficult to hold long notes like that while dancing, but she made it look effortless.

(Just the sheer amount of effort it must have taken just to sort out her hair _(why did she have so much of it?)_ was ridiculous. How long did she spend practising using it like a weapon for all the little stunts she did? That, if nothing else, proved what Li had said about these people's respect for their art.)

On his left, Li leaned forward on the rafter to see her better. Underlit by the stage lights, half in shadow, he seemed to glow with sheer joy. There was something childlike in his expression, the openness, the way his entire focus was on something so banal (the way he let his guard down and trusted Jet to keep an eye out for him).

Sat on his good side, Jet was able to see the person Li would have been – was _supposed _to_ be – _had his life not been torn apart.

Jet had never seen him so content; even when asleep he seemed tense (not all that surprising, considering how he usually woke up).

Li leaned forwards further and, yeah, they were all used to high places, but seeing Li that far out put Jet's teeth on edge. Unthinkingly, he grabbed a hold of Li's tunic and pulled him back up to safety. A second too late he realised that was Something You Don't Do To Li, but Li didn't react; he just let himself be manhandled, then shifted right back into his dangerous position.

Li was the highlight of the show. Jet much preferred to watch Li's reactions to everything than to watch the actual show – the way he cooed at the two protagonists' budding romance, the way he flinched at the fight scenes and held in laughs at the silly interactions, how he swayed on the rafter next to him, unthinking of his own safety, at the last song before the first act ended.

Jet thought about that last song, about people from the harshest walks of life still holding onto hope for a better life, still daring to dream. He'd never let himself think ahead - not more than he'd needed to in order to keep his kids warm and fed and alive – had never thought about his life ten years down the line. What did he want to do? Fight the Fire Nation, of course, but was that really the best thing for him, after what happened? Shouldn't he think beyond that?

What would make him happy in life, if the war ever ended?

He looked at his kids, on either side of him, watching the bustle of the theatre patrons below. They were happy, for the moment at least. Safe and comfortable and healthy.

What makes him happy now?

-line break-

"What's your dream?" Zuko heard Smellerbee whispering to Longshot. He glanced over, looking past Jet to where the pair were sat. Longshot tapped out one of his indecipherable patterns on the brim of his hat. Smellerbee leaned into his side, a gentle affectionate nudge, before leaning back out again. Apparently, Longshot was a firm believer in personal space.

"What about you, Bee?" Jet asked her, tone soft.

"I don't really know," Smellerbee said, "But I always thought it would be useful to know medicine. Proper medicine, y'know, not just field stuff. I'd have to learn how to read first, but…"

Jet smiled. "You'd be able to help a lot of people as a healer. I bet reading's not that hard, if even the dumbest of nobles can do it."

"It's easy enough," Zuko forced out, before he could think twice about intruding. "Once you get the basics down, you only need to do it a few minutes a day to get it properly. I could teach you some. You're smart - you'll pick it up quickly."

Smellerbee looked at him, startled that he'd spoken (or maybe that he knew how to read in the first place). Zuko forced himself to stay calm – there was nothing here to hurt him, she was just looking at him. He hated how pathetic he was, barely able to handle a conversation with people who wanted to be his friends.

She looked away, maybe noticing his discomfort in his expression. She gave him a small nod of thanks at his offer but didn't say anything, likely aware that he was at his limit.

"What about you, Jet?" she asked instead, nudging the boy next to her, easily shifting the conversation.

Jet smiled that gentle fucking smile, the one he did with his eyes - usually when he thought they weren't looking. "I'm pretty happy with what I have just now. I'll just… keep doing this, I suppose. Maybe in Ba Sing Se, maybe I'll travel. Find anyone who needs me."

_This really is what he wants, isn't it?_ Zuko watched Jet's face carefully, but there was no trace of falsehood. No ulterior motives, no lies… Jet wanted to travel the country and teach kids to trust again.

Zuko averted his eyes from the trio. They could still be up to something, but it seemed less likely with every day that went by.

He didn't want to be scared tonight, he decided, looking at the audience below, at his allies _(friends?)_ by his sides, here just for him, and shook off his doubts. He'd already spoken out of turn twice today – he'd _yelled_ at_ Jet, _for Agni's sake – and they hadn't done anything yet. Just for tonight, he could… _try_ to trust.

"I think my dream is theatre," he said, like an idiot, without being asked.

Jet glanced at him, but didn't ask anything. _Jet tries not to ask me questions, because he knows I don't like them_, Zuko reminded himself. _That's why he's not saying anything._

He knew that, of course - he practically chanted it in his head every time he said what felt like the wrong thing and his heart leapt into his throat. It was the first time he'd managed to believe it in the moment, however.

Zuko didn't tense, and felt far too fucking proud for it.

"I used to spend my time seeking out bards," he told them. "I'd learn their songs and their instruments and I'd join them when they performed. I made some good friends, that I'd bump into from port to port, and we'd have dances we made up together. One of my friends was helping me write songs and I wasn't great at it but I wasn't bad."

He looked down at the stage, heard the music start up again to herald the next act.

"It was nice, being good at something that wasn't fighting."

The curtains opened below, cutting off any further conversation.


	7. 2-2

There was a slight moment of panic towards the end of the second act when the actors let loose dozens of flying lanterns. Li didn't seem to realise the danger of a_ light source _coming _towards them _as the_ entire audience _watched, wrapped up as he was in the two leads' romantic duet (was he _crying?_), but it only took a little bit of nudging to get him to move with them to the edge of the huge hall where they wouldn't be spotted.

The rushed half-panic was enough to break Jet's immersion in the story and let him focus on other things, like the fact that Li was definitely crying. Was that supposed to happen?

"Are you alright, Li?" the other boy had never taken his eyes off of the stage, even when walking over the _really thin rafter - Li, you need to pay more attention_.

He gave a little sniff in response, rubbing at his face, seemingly only just realising he was crying. "I'm fine." He tried to blink back his tears, but only sent more down his cheeks, too quickly to rub them all away.

"It's just that…" Jet looked down as the actors began to sing in unison, harmonising with each other. "I'm pretty sure this is supposed to be the happy bit."

Li scrubbed at his face, wincing as he rubbed at the edges of his scar. "Yeah, I know. I'm being stupid."

"Nah, you're not," Jet insisted, careful to keep his tone casual, instead of pushing him because _no, Li, you're really not, you're allowed to feel things, don't talk about yourself that way _wouldn't have gone down that easily.

"Isn't the whole point of this to make you feel things and stuff?" he said instead, even as he knew somewhere in his gut that this wasn't that; something was _wrong_. "You're the theatre expert, it makes sense that you'd get more invested than us."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm just." He sat down on their new rafter at the edge, rather than waiting for the lights to clear so they could move back to the better spot. "Her people miss her so much," he gestured to the singers below, to the lights around them, watching with wide eyes.

"They do this every year," he said, "because they want her to come home, because they love her and miss her and she should be there, she shouldn't be stuck so far away. She should be with them and she is _wanted_."

And _that_ wasn't what Jet had been expecting.

But Li wasn't even finished, though Jet suspected that he wasn't supposed to hear Li's last whisper of, _"They miss her so much. She didn't even have to _do_ anything."_

This wasn't about the missing princess going home or finding love or seeing the floating lights she'd been dreaming of. That wasn't what Li saw, down there.

Jet sat himself down next to him, carefully nudging him with his knee. A twisty cocktail curled in his gut at all the implications of Li's words - a history of nobility, in that he had, perhaps, had people he'd felt responsible for; that he couldn't go home, be that due to the Fire Nation, as he'd always assumed, or even due to something else, worse in its own way; and his final quiet statement, and what that could mean for Li's own family.

If there was a group of people that had the most influence over who a person was, it would be their family. If there was something wrong with _them_, it would explain so much about Li.

Questions burned in his throat.

He knew he couldn't ask him about any of it, not if he wanted Li to be there when they woke up the next morning.

He just pressed his side against Li as the curtains fell for another break, and the other boy slowly calmed.

"You okay now?" he asked, voice quiet enough that Li could pretend not to have heard him if he wanted to.

"Yeah." In the shadows, Li pressed himself back into Jet, enjoying the contact, but not acknowledging or admitting to the need. (Jet took a mental note of the fact.)

Some stagehands made their way up the stairs to the rafters to take the lanterns down, in order to repair and reuse them the next show. There was another mad scramble to keep themselves hidden, Li giggling like a child sneaking pastries from the pantry, even as they were hanging by their fingers out of the window, stagehands passing by far too closely.

He'd moved past feeling sad and into giddy. He was likely just feeling emotional from everything today – just the excitement of seeing a play might be to blame for his delicate state.

_Yeah,_ watching his friend smile, Jet let out an internal sigh of relief, _Li was okay._

When the stagehands had all left and they'd returned to their original perch, Jet asked, "So what's the best play you've ever seen? You must have seen quite a few."

Li frowned slightly as he thought, then shrugged his shoulders, the movement fluid even as they drooped again. He was so relaxed he was almost asleep. "Haven't a clue," he said. "There's too many I loved too much. This one might be up there though," he nodded towards the stage. "Depends on how it ends, though. I'm half worried I've spoiled you for theatre now though; any others we see have a lot to live up to." His sleepy comfort slipped suddenly. "I mean, if you'd ever want to and if we're still sticking together and-"

If there was one thing Jet had learned about interacting with Li, it was to never let him keep talking when he was headed into a panic. He cut him off instead, "We can check them out anyway, even if they're not quite as good. Even a bad play has to be entertaining when we're watching what they do backstage."

Li blinked, then dropped back into his comfortable state almost immediately. He scowled, but it seemed almost playful. "A bad play is an affront to theatre," he said, in half-faux, half-real offence. "Every year in the summer my mother would drag me to see The Emb– um, this terrible theatre group, and they always did the same play, and they were absolutely appalling – and the play was one of my _favourites_, I loved to read the scrolls of it, but whenever they did it, it was-" he made an unreadable hand gesture, "and I don't even know _how_ they did it, it was such a good story but no one there could act if their lives depended on it – _and maybe they would have if I'd known how to use my swords back then_…"

Jet was entirely right to think that a bad play would be just as entertaining as a good one if he got to spend the whole time watching Li getting angrier at the bad acting and low budget props. He didn't tell him that, not wanting to instigate a sulk, but a glance at the others told him they were thinking the same thing.

Li - hands waving meaninglessly, his face caught in a half smile, half scowl - kept talking right up until the curtains opened again.

-line break-

The rest of the play was a little rough – the scene where the heroine's fake mother turned out to be evil had Li stock still the whole way through, his hands trembling. For a moment Jet had considered suggesting that they leave, but was hoping there would be a happy ending – and if there was, he knew that Li _had_ to see it. If his assumptions about Li were even halfway true, he knew it was important for Li to see the evil parent being defeated.

(He mentally prepared himself for a sleepless night, all the same.)

He didn't comment when Li stared openly sobbing as she returned home to her loving parents, but dared to gently rub his back. Li leaned into him, turning it into a side-hug, and Jet tried to convince himself that it was a win.

They stayed just long enough for the cast to take their bows before they left. None of them spoke on the way to their camp just outside the town, nor when they settled down for the night, Li curled up close to Song, her resting her head on his body.

In the silence just before sleep, where they could hear each other breathing, where they became less alert and each trusted in each other while they were vulnerable, Li said, "Thanks, you guys. Tonight was… I needed that."

They slept the whole night through.

-line break-

Li was twice as prickly as usual the next day, scowling if they so much as looked at him. Jet tried not to take it to heart - they'd got through to him once, they could do it again.

He tried not to think about how long it would be until he saw that Li again – happy and calm and open and trusting. It had taken _weeks_ just to get last night, and _that_ was practically a fluke.

_One day,_ he promised himself, _I'll see yesterday's Li every day._ It would take time, and work, promises made and kept, again and again, tempers held as Li pushed as hard as he could, waiting for him to crack and prove that he was always going to hurt him, that the world really _is_ out to get him, but one day he would trust them, and one day he would be happy.

He'd seen the real Li, now. There was no chance he'd let him go.


	8. 2-3

Jet was nearly over the moon the first time Li told them, "No." Maybe he actually would have been, had his voice no trembled while he said it. Still. Baby steps.

It didn't seem like he'd meant to say it, either, which didn't help, but it at least gave them a chance to prove they wouldn't bite his head off when he did. Maybe he'd do it on purpose next time.

Maybe he'd feel safe doing it the time after that.

It was both surprising and not, his reason for finally (accidentally) standing up to them. While Jet had not expected any objections to an easy meal of succulent turtleduckling meat, Li had always been more likely to risk himself for the good of others than for himself. He'd never have objected to anything they did that affected only him, but would always object to anything that could hurt someone else. Like a turtleduck.

(Why did he have to care more about a turtleduck's wellbeing than his own?)

Jet was glad to be able to understand his friend, but every new thing he learned just made him want to punch someone in the face. Plus, getting inside his head, seeing himself the way Li sees him, always made his skin crawl.

(He was someone who only pretended to be his friend for some nefarious reason, who could hurt him any day, who was more likely to hurt him the more he trusted him, who he should get away from before he let his guard down too much except he was too damned hungry and lonely and would probably accept a few hits if it meant he could stay here with his new friends because he'd probably deserve it anyway and _that's not how friends work, Li. _

Jet had put it all together, from the flinches and the nightmares and the scars on his back; from the unpredictable fluctuations between near subservience and extreme rudeness.)

Yeah. Thinking about_ that_ set his gut churning. But there was nothing he could do to change what Li saw except prove to him over and over (and over and over for as long as it took; as long as he _could_ keep Li around for because every day he looked ready to leave _(Jet was running out of time and he'd barely made a scratch)_) – he had to prove to him that he was wrong, that he was _safe_ here.

It had barely been a month. Li had come out of his shell _once_ in that time. He would have to keep waiting.

"You want us to leave them alone, Li?" he clarified, drawing himself back to the present.

Li was still trembling, expression indecisive – were the turtleducks lives worth risking Jet's wrath?

_(Why can't you just trust me not to hurt you?)_

But he clenched his fists by his side and said, "Yes. We can… we can find something else to eat."

Jet nodded, forcing down the wet emotion at the milestone, glancing at the others to make sure they'd back him up. They did. "Okay. We'll keep looking."

As much as he wanted to, Jet knew not to push further than that – Rules of Li Numbers Four and Five: Don't Ask Questions; Don't Push Him When He Does Something He Thinks He Isn't Supposed To Do.

He wished he could read; then he could write these down.

Taking care of Li was harder than anything he'd done before – and Jet had kept toddlers alive in treehouses while fighting miniature battles with soldiers down below.

It took a monumental effort to manage his expressions on a near constant basis, to make sure that Li always felt safe – or as close to safe as Li could ever feel – around him. To help him come down from his panics whenever he did anything, to anticipate what might upset him and intervene before it would. Every word and every interaction was carefully cultivated, but the bond between them had to be _real_, too, not just Li bonding with a projection Jet put out to protect him while Jet was too busy lying to actually know_ Li_, and not just his lists of triggers.

But there was a shitty part of him tucked in a corner of his heart that ignored what Li needed from him - what Jet had to be because if he wasn't Li would leave and Li would _die._ But there was still a part of him just dying to know everything:

Why was the Fire Nation after _Li_ as well as the Blue Spirit?

Who taught him to fight like that?

How did he do his sneaky ninja thing? Would he teach them?

_(Who made him like this and what could Jet do to hurt them? _

_What happened that made him alone?_

_How did he get his scar?_

_Did he have anyone else to turn to? Had he ever?)_

He pushed the questions away, never let them show on his face. Li would only snarl and snap at the kindest ones; might run at the harsher ones.

It didn't stop him from wondering at night, or in the early mornings when Li left to… do something Jet couldn't risk asking about.

Sometimes he found the questions on his tongue, when he let himself wonder a little too long and Li looked at him with his shields half-lowered. He bit down on them, told himself _later_ when he knew it was _never_.

Li needed his help – and he needed to trust him to accept it.

Jet ignored the selfish curiosity even as it burned, and never asked questions.

Li disappeared sometime mid-afternoon. This was normal Li behaviour, but it never failed to give Jet a heart attack – would _this_ be the time he decided not to come back?

He could never be completely sure that he'd see him again after he left his sight; he'd only promised to stick with them to the next town, said he _wasn't opposed _to staying on with them after, and they hadn't spoken about it since. They'd passed through half a dozen towns since then, and Li hadn't promised anything more.

Surely, he would say goodbye if he chose to leave, would give Jet a chance to change his mind and shove coins in his bag, but… there was always the slightest chance that he wouldn't. Jet couldn't _stand_ it, but Rule Number Four _(Don't Ask Questions)_ kept him from doing anything to reassure himself. He couldn't risk letting Li misinterpret his questions, or panic over being asked them - not with a topic this sensitive.

When the sun was close to setting and Li still hadn't returned, he decided enough was enough. Something might have happened to him, after all.

(As he left he looked at their camp, looked at Li's bag and mask, looked at his beloved Song, dozing in the long grass. He'd never leave her behind, wouldn't leave his things behind.

Not unless he wanted to get a head start on them - trick them into thinking he was still around and run off somewhere they would never find him. They never could find him when he didn't want to be found.)

He'd barely stepped outside of camp when the obvious answer came to him: Li was guarding the turtleduck pond. He didn't trust them not to eat them even after he asked them not to. Had Jet given in to him too easily? Did Li really think he was just pretending? What had he done wrong?

He made his way back to the pond he and the others had found earlier in the day, trying to figure out what to say to Li, how to explain that they wouldn't do that after they promised they wouldn't. (If nothing else, Jet had been vigilant in being honest with Li; if Li wouldn't even trust him to keep his word, how could he hope to fix anything else?)

Would it be enough that none of them had gone to the pond? Was he breaking his trust by going to the pond now – would he think he was there to kill them?

He broke through the treeline into the small clearing, and felt his worry evaporate into glee.

Li was asleep, curled up on his side on the grass facing the pond, covered in baby turtleducks. Two were snoozing in his half-cupped hands; one was snuggled in between his shoulder and his neck; several were dotted across the length of his back. One sat on the ground in front of his chin, the fluff on the back of its head disturbed by Li's gentle breaths.

The fading sunlight streamed between the trees behind him, surrounding him in a soft halo. The pink-purple sunset reflected from the sky to the pond to his face, the colour moving in dappled waves like the water it came from.

He looked so peaceful.

But he couldn't sleep here. The ground was hard and slightly muddy, and Li was lying somewhat awkwardly, presumably to keep the turtleducks from falling off. He'd end up cold and sore and wet in the morning.

"Li." He stepped closer, reminding himself not to touch him when he didn't know it was coming (Rule Number Seven).

Li made a grumbling noise in response, starting to turn over before stopping as he dislodged a turtleduck on his back.

"Li, you can't sleep here," Jet couldn't keep himself from smiling. "Come back to camp."

"'m staying here."

"You need to wake up."

"Let me be a duck."

Jet mostly held back his laugh. Li didn't seem to notice it.

Another turtleduck moved from his back. The ones in his hands woke up and looked at Jet, indignant that he was disturbing their rest and stealing their perch.

"You're not a turtleduck, Li, you need to get up."

He leaned down and, gently as he could, shook Li's shoulder. The shake moved through his back, knocking off even more turtleducks. They turned their pointy beaks to him and quacked their annoyance.

He was startled out of his good mood by a vicious bite to his ankle. He just barely managed to stifle his cry of pain, enough not to alarm the others back at camp, but Li was suddenly wide awake, frozen where he was lain, alert for danger but_ still_ not wanting to disturb the remaining turtleducks.

"Sorry," Jet whispered, as though he hadn't been trying to wake him, and looked down to see the mother turtleduck clamped down tightly on his ankle. He took a grip on her shell and pulled her off, the action taking more effort than he would ever admit, and lost his balance, falling down on his butt.

The turtleduck in his hands proceeded to try to bite his fingers off. He quite liked his fingers, and would never live it down if he lost them to a turtleduck, but couldn't find a way to stop her that wouldn't hurt her.

Li plucked her from his hands and set her back in the pond. All the turtleducks followed her in.

Or, most of them did. Somehow, there was still one on his shoulder, still asleep.

Li sat cross-legged next to him, slumped with sleep-fogginess, overlooking the pond.

Jet rubbed at his ankle. There would be a bruise, but hopefully nothing worse than that. "Why'd she do that?" he grumbled.

Li gave a huff of a laugh. "That's just how mothers are." There was something in his voice, softer than he was expecting, and he didn't think it was the sleep. "You upset her babies." It was a wistfulness, some sense of longing. He was saying more than his words implied.

Jet didn't ask.

Li took the turtleduck from his shoulder and set it in the pond. It immediately tried to crawl back over to him, and he nudged it further in, gently. "You need to be with your mother, Sweet Pea."

Li's expression was the gooiest thing Jet had ever seen, smile so wide and wobbly it was almost a frown, brow gently curved upwards, body relaxed. That wet emotion rose in Jet's chest again, and he dared to sit closer to Li, their thighs touching. Li leaned into the touch.

They sat there for a while, watching the turtleducks play.

"Can I ask you something, Li?" Jet asked. "It's okay if you don't want to answer."

Li tensed for a moment, but relaxed again, watching the pond. "Okay."

"Do you think you can stay? Keep travelling with us to Ba Sing Se?"

Li refused to look at him. His jaw clenched. He took a deep breath, focusing on petting the turtleducks that kept climbing into his lap.

"I-" he started. "I think I want to." He turned to look at Jet. "I want to stay with you guys."

Jet started to smile-

"For as long as you'll have me."


	9. 3

**AN giving you this one early since its just a little one (Also to apologise for repeatedly updating late). There'll still be an update on Sunday :)**

**(There's a fair bit more already up on my ao3 account btw, along with my other stuff. I'm FoiblePNoteworthy there a well. I also have a Tumblr with the same name)**

Sometimes he forgot about the lies. He forgot that he had betrayed them before he even met them, and that he continued to with every moment that he didn't fall to his knees and beg for their forgiveness. It would hit him like a physical blow in the quiet moments when he'd let himself forget, and the guilt would curl around him tighter. Choking him.

Sometimes, for blissful half seconds, within their small smiles of comradery, he was Li: he was Earth Kingdom, he was a swordfighter, he hated the Fire Nation.

But he didn't. At night when they sat around the fire and discussed whatever rumours about the war they'd heard, or speculated over what their lives would become when they were finally safe from the war (safe from his people, safe from _him_), he would stare into the campfire and try to share in their hatred.

In his mind's eye, he saw the Fire Nation uniform, and felt fear – that was close enough, he hoped. Thoughts of Father only brought a cocktail of desperation and longing cut through with flashes of pain from over the years, and the sharp image of his hand aflame. The hatred he tried to feel was only reflected back onto himself – _if only he wasn't so weak, his life would never have gone so wrong._

When he thought of Azula he felt mind-numbing terror, had visions of waking up to their camp alight with blue fire, but the figure of sharp cut armour and lightning (and, once, through eyes blurred with sleep, moonlight glinting off a blade hovering above his head, disappearing in a flurry of giggles) was always replaced with innocent smiles, bright eyes, a little hand in his own on long walks with mother, keeping him warm on a rare cold day _("You'll get it one day, Zuzu.")_.

It was difficult to reconcile who she'd been with who she was now - she wanted to hurt him, he knew, but, try as he might, the feeling wasn't mutual _(she was so, so, excruciatingly tiny)_.

Once again, his compassion - the tattered remains of what mother and uncle had tried to cultivate _(not as much as they want him to have, but too much to be of use to anyone; he'd failed them just as much as everyone else)_ \- made him second best, a failure, a danger and a disappointment to all around him.

When she caught him, she would kill him. The best he could hope for was escape (and that was a tenuous hope at best), but she would find him again. Even if some miracle gave him a chance at true escape, he knew he would never take it; he would be too weak to kill his baby sister.

He would be lucky to last the year with her on his tail.

He glanced up at his friends. She would kill them, too, because of his weakness. Innocent and kind, even as they hated him with all they had, and told him a hundred times, to his face, how much they wished he, and his family, and all his people could be banished from history; told him how much he had hurt them and everything he deserved for it. He took in their words and curled them around his heart, crushing it tighter.

He stared back into the fire, then down at his hands. Equally as destructive, but with no potential anything else. He never did any good.

There was only one part of the Fire Nation he could truly hate, so he took all of their words with grace, added them to the warring guilt and anxiety in his stomach, which grew almost as potent as a physical illness when they smiled at him and called him the same as them.

_(I'm your enemy, why can't you see that?)_

Every day he opened his mouth to tell them the truth, to get rid of them and keep them safe and to get them to leave him alone _(alone),_ just like he dreads wants. He could make it on his own _(alone again)_ just fine. He was weaker when he had something to lose.

"Li?" Jet's voice pulled him out of his head, "You alright there?"

Zuko met his eyes, soft with concern in a way no outsider _(except him)_ ever saw.

Something inside him ached to tell him everything and have him tell him it was okay, he could stay in their little family, he could be a good person someday, he didn't need to hate himself.

_"I'm Fire Nation,"_ he imagined saying,_ "I'm the Prince. My father is the Firelord. I was too dishonourable for even him to accept, and too much of a failure to make it up to him. I'm everything that you hate. I'm a firebender, and a liar and a killer. I'm the enemy. You should kill me." _It would be so easy to say it, to get it all out there. Maybe then the crushing feeling inside would leave with it.

Maybe it would be okay.

The words burned in his throat and his insides twisted. Within his clenched fists, he felt his fingernails cut into his palms, felt them burn into his skin. Couldn't control it. It had been years, it should be easy, why couldn't he do this _one_ thing right?

"I'm fine," he said eventually, crushing down the words for what felt like the thousandth time, "Just thinking."

Jet's mouth twisted in doubt. "If you're sure." He ended his sentence on an upturn, giving Li a second chance to talk, but didn't push.

("_I want to ask him about it_," he'd heard him telling the others when they thought he was out of earshot, "_I know _something_ is upsetting him._ _But he's too skittish._"

"_As long as we don't scare him off, we've got all the time in the world,_" Smellerbee had said, Longshot nodding behind her. "_We can wait for him to come to us_."

"_If he ever will._"

"_He will. One day_.")

His lungs were full of tiny knives. He couldn't draw a full breath.

They shouldn't have that sort of faith in him.

_Tell them,_ ordered a voice in Zuko's mind, sounding like his father. _Tell him. Let them confirm everything. There's no point in wallowing in questions you already know the answers to. They would never care if they knew, and you would deserve it. They would be safe as soon as they realised how much they hate you._

He opened his mouth to tell him the truth: "I'm sure. I'm fine." But couldn't.

"Li-"

"I said I'm fine!" The fire flared up alongside his temper. He couldn't take this much longer.

He managed to pull the fire back just enough, just in time, that they didn't make the connection. His hands gripped the log he was sat upon tightly, rough bark splintering, cutting his fingers. He deserved it. If he wasn't careful, he'd drive them away just being him.

Jet had already turned away, expression hidden, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Zuko opened his mouth to apologize, but closed it almost immediately.

A failure again.


	10. 4-1

He hadn't slept through the night in weeks.

He dreamed of his father and sister, pulling one of his arms; his sister's fingernails cutting into his wrist while his father's grip burned with a familiar flame. Behind them stood mother and uncle, smiling gently, lovingly, beckoning him back to them, to a façade of safety.

On his other side, Jet held his hand, his warm palm firm like iron. He didn't tug, unlike his family, but Zuko found himself stuck fast. Smellerbee had her arms wrapped around his waist, the highest that she could reach, while Longshot stood steadfast behind Jet, solemn eyes softened with quiet affection. They all had their weapons, which only made him feel safe. They wore them to protect him, just as he wore his to protect them. It never occurred him to fear their weapons.

Behind their love for Li, however, was a dark hatred for Zuko. He hid himself from them (guilt clawing at his stomach) and basked in their mistaken love.

Both sides tugged at him, one steady and comforting, trying to convince him to trust them; while the other insistent, manipulative. His arms strained; his heart ached; it was only growing worse as time went on without choosing a side.

He had to make a choice. One or the other. There was no way to have both of them. Father had always demanded nothing but obedience and loyalty, and as the leader of his group, Jet would surely expect the same from all of his followers.

Zuko didn't necessarily need to choose just yet – Jet knew he'd worked for someone else, knew he had confused loyalties, and he hadn't asked for anything from him yet. He would though, eventually; when he was convinced that Li was his he'd demand that he prove it. That he become what Jet wants him to be; something he can never truly be, as much as he tried to pretend otherwise.

(Sometimes his blood itched with the feeling of _them_ running through it and he wanted to tear his skin off just to get his Father out. But he couldn't.)

He knew he'd have to choose eventually, and the sooner the better, right? If he wanted Jet to keep him, he needs to show him he'll be loyal, and that he'll stay with him and carve out the people he used to belong to so he could give him his full loyalty. He had to be what Jet wanted him to be.

He needed to do it quickly, too; before Jet realised that Li was not someone he wanted to own. He'd been thrown away before (His scar prickled at the thought.). He couldn't let it happen again. All he had to do was become who they wanted him to be. And Jet wanted him to be Earth Kingdom, and loyal.

He could do that, but once he'd done that, he wouldn't be able to go back to who he was. He had to be sure.

In his dreams, Father and Azula and Jet and the gang glare at each other when they think Zuko isn't looking.

But while Father and Azula looked at Jet like they wanted nothing more than to wipe him off the face of the earth – a sentiment Jet assuredly returned – they almost looked at Zuko the same way, with a little possessive smile thrown into the mix. They'd thrown him away in the past, wanted nothing to do with him, but now that someone else wanted him they wanted him back, just to take him away. They wanted to _own _him.

Jet wanted the same thing, in a way, but, equally, it was completely different. He wanted Li to be one of his people, he wanted to take care of him, to give him loyalty and have it returned. He looked after the people he kept. When he glared at his family, it was with hatred for the Fire Nation, but not only that.

_"You'll get them back for it," _Jet had promised on the cold nights when his scar still burned_,_ voice tight as his grip on his swords,_ "and if you can't, we'll do it for you."_

Li didn't deserve his loyalty. He didn't deserve the emotion Jet felt on his behalf, not for one of the few things he did deserve. He was disrespectful, and he'd earned his scar and everything that came with it. Otherwise, Father would never have given it to him. He seemed harsh at times, but Father always had his best interests at heart. Deep_, deep,_ down.

But father wasn't here. Neither was Azula - or, at least, she wouldn't be, not as long as Zuko was cautious about covering up his tracks. (His desperate fear of her had only grown since he'd gained something she could take away. He didn't want to lose his new family)

He didn't want to lose his old family either, but he'd barely had them to begin with, while the Freedom Fighters were right here, in his hands, begging him to join them. Zuko liked to think he wasn't a fool.

The choice was obvious, as much as he wished the other side would have at least _put up a fight_. But if he was going to make this choice, he was going to do it properly. Make it so he can't take it back, or at least make it difficult to.

He was going to have to let them go.

He took a deep breath and thought of his mother. She'd been gone for so long he'd near given up on her already. Hopefully, this was the easiest place to start.

In his mind's eye, he saw her, tall and gentle and strong and safe; felt a phantom hand carding through his hair, shorter now; heard a soothing, cooing voice. It was almost like the was here, a ghost standing before him. The fire before him became a perfectly clear pond, still except for the ripples of the turtleducks; the musty forest smell became the flowers she had lovingly tended to. The air was clean. He felt a protective presence at his back, could remember the peace of knowing someone loved him and would protect him with everything they had.

He didn't need her for that anymore. He had new people to protect him.

It was too easy to let her go; time had done most of the job already - his calm was long gone, and her protections stripped away. Only memory remained, near useless.

He let out the breath he'd been holding, the fire barely stirring at it, and blew away the spectre of her, watched her drift away like ash in the breeze. _Goodbye, Mother._

As she disappeared, she almost seemed to smile.

With the ghost of his mother gone, his longing for her faded into acceptance of what could no longer be, and his heart was freed to love anew. Long-carried grief lifted from his shoulders. He finally felt some of the calm she'd tried to give him. _Yes,_ his new sense of peace spurred him on, _This was the right thing to do._

The rest of his family, however, weren't mere spectres, but real people. He couldn't simply banish them from his heart, not when they were trying to claw their way back in. He needed to burn them, give them a pyre, have them gone as if they were dead.

He picked up a branch from the forest floor, pulling his knife from his belt and carving the sigil for _'father'_ into the rough bark. His work was haphazard, in part due to a lack of care, but mostly due to a lack of skill, reluctant as he was to admit it. He didn't have much experience in carving - he was mostly just glad he hadn't cut his hand.

When the sigil was complete, he stared at the carving for a moment, trying to think of any happy memories he needed to let go of. He felt his desperate longing for his father's approval, and remembered the cold fear in his gut whenever he had failed him. He managed to stop himself before he thought about the consequences for those failures, tamping down on the urge to rub his scar, as if that could remove it from his face.

He glanced up at his new friends. There was only one thing he could do (one thing he could _be_) to make them hate him enough to hurt him the same as his father had, and he was cutting off the parts of him they hated. Soon, he will be what they want him to be. He didn't have to fear them. He would never again have to fear someone he loved.

His desperation for Ozai's love was suddenly replaced with something resembling hatred, with a bitterness he hadn't realised was festering beneath the surface. What kind of man would burn his son?

Zuko shivered, remembering that hand coming towards him. _No_, he did not need his love, not anymore.

He threw the stick onto the fire, harder than he needed to, but had little room to feel satisfaction at watching his father burning there. He could only think of how his father would never touch him again, he would never feel that way again, he could rely on the people around him to protect him from him. Relief soothed his squirrel-rabbit heartbeat as he watched his father splinter and blacken on the fire before him. He was finally safe.

(At least, he was safe from one person, in one respect.)

Azula was easier after to let go of in some respects – he was emboldened by his results so far and knew this was right for him, and he found that making the carving was far easier the second time around. He let his hands work and focused on what he was leaving behind.

Idly, he noticed the others' eyes on him, but wasn't bothered. He was doing this for them, after all. He did wonder for a moment if they were going to ask what he was up to, but realised he hadn't offered, so they wouldn't ask. They knew where his boundaries were, as much as they tried to push them sometimes - to gain entry to his heart. He could tell them in his own time. Or not at all, if he wanted.

Detached from his need for his father's affection (he had to remind himself that he _was,_ but it worked, and he knew it would become second nature in time), he was no longer angry at Azula for being his favourite. Looking at her with new eyes, he could see her more clearly than he ever had before - she just wanted their fath- _(not his father anymore)_ she wanted _her_ father's love, the same as Zuko once had. (She wanted the only thing that could keep them safe from him.) Pity swelled within him, but he knew there was no hope for her - father had sunk his teeth into her and made her like him. The sweetness of her youth was long gone, wishing otherwise wouldn't change that. Trying to reach her would only threaten the new life he had found.

_If she could change_, he decided, _she would have to do it on her own_. He would not help her. He couldn't, not when he wasn't her big brother anymore. Not when he had other people to protect, now.

He pulled his thoughts from her and to the carving on the wood. '_Sister',_ said the choppy letters. He placed it onto the fire with a silent apology, and found himself looking away as she burned.

He swallowed the guilt he knew he had no reason to feel. She had abandoned him years ago. Nowadays, it was a choice between her and his new family, and he knew who he had to choose.

Hopefully now, if it came down to it, the visions of a cherubic smile on a tiny body wouldn't plague him when he fought her, and he would be able to protect his family from her.

He met their eyes over the fire. They were still watching him, but didn't question his actions, even though they would have been able to tell from his expression that it was important. He was glad; he would explain when he was finished and committed to them.

He glanced at where his ex-sister burned on the fire, and saw her crumble to ash. _Goodbye, Azula. I loved you as much as I could. I'm sorry it wasn't enough. _

His next move was almost unconscious. As Azula burned upon the fire, his hands found the next bit of wood, warmed and charred from where it had been on the fire before it fell out, and began carving. His thoughts drifted to his quest, the Avatar, a tiny twelve-year-old boy who had lost all of his people, who had asked him once if they could be friends. Guilt curled around his gut. He decided to apologise to him one day, if he could. There was so much he needed to make up to him, and to his friends, and there was little limit to what he could do to help them. Only a limit to what he _would_ do.

He thought of his home, of his birthrights, then pushed them away. He didn't need them. Had no means of getting them, now. What need did Li have of a throne anyway? Why would Li want to command vessels or rule countries? Li was a simple peasant. He was happier with nothing.

He glanced absentmindedly to his hands, and was almost surprised (though he knew he shouldn't be) to find '_Zuko'_ carved there, half of the lettering smudged black by ash.

He placed it on the fire without a second thought, and felt nothing. He hadn't wanted to be _Zuko_, angry and longing and unhappy, ever since he'd realised there was another option. He didn't bother to say goodbye as he put the worst parts of himself to rest, just allowed a sense of peace to flow through him as he began to wash away his past crimes, and vowed to make up for them properly, as Li. He could be a good person now. He could be anyone he wanted to.

There was only one person left to do. Uncle.

The peace he'd built within himself seemed to evaporate. He had to let go of everyone, and that had to include Uncle. Half-heartedly, he scanned the ground looking for the perfect branch for him. If he had to say goodbye to him, too, he was going to do it well, with lots of thought and a decent carving. _(Uncle deserved far more than that, but he had nothing else to offer him.)_ However, he found that none of the branches were satisfactory.

With a quiet sigh, he gave up quickly, easily, vowing to keep an eye out the next day so find the perfect branch for uncle. Maybe he'd need to find a few, so he could practise his carving. He might end up having to wait a few days before letting go of Uncle.

He was okay with that.

His gut unclenched, and he finally relaxed. He was finally rid of his family (sans Uncle) and becoming the person his friends wanted him to be. He felt freer than he had in years, maybe ever.

"Have you finished?" Jet finally asked, tone casual, but not dismissive. Not pushing, more offering to talk, only if Li wanted to. If he decided he never wanted to explain, they wouldn't force him.

Across from Li, Smellerbee's eyes glowed in the firelight. She feigned disinterest, glancing down to sharpen her knives, but her head was tilted towards him, listening to anything he wanted to say. Next to her, Longshot's expression was almost unreadable, but Li could see the small smile in his eyes. Neither of them asked, or even pushed with their looks. They respected him, even with his anger and secrets and little eccentricities.

It was because of that that he answered, even though he wasn't quite ready. "Not yet," he said, "I've got one still to do. But aren't any good branches here to work with."

Jet simply nodded, pointedly not mentioning the branches littering the ground, easily suited to Li's needs. "Can you tell me what you're doing?"

Another thing Li loved about working with Jet: even though he was accustomed to being a commander, he never ordered Li to do anything, or even phrased his questions like orders – not unless the situation was life or death, at least (not exactly uncommon, but Li accepted it when it happened). Jet saw that Li was uncomfortable with being ordered, and respected that.

Well, unless he was teasing him, but he always had such a soft smile (invisible to those who didn't know him) when he did so that Li knew and trusted he didn't mean it. That didn't stop him from flushing in embarrassment or anger, but he knew Jet acted out of affection, not malice.

"I'll tell you tomorrow," Li promised easily, glancing at the others to include them, but mostly addressing Jet, "When I've finished."

Jet didn't bother to remind him that he didn't _have_ to tell him; that he would accept it if Li kept it secret, even after he'd promised to explain.

They both knew.


	11. 4-2

Despite his vow the previous night to find the perfect branch for his uncle's carving, Li found himself unwilling to look at the forest floor beneath him. Every time he tried, that curdling feeling rose again in his gut.

Letting go of Uncle was supposed to get rid of this feeling, not bring it on even further.

He was idly watching an interesting bird – very interesting; very distracting – when he was struck with the smell of Uncle. He stopped in his tracks, Smellerbee almost bumping into him from behind, twisting to locate the source before he realised what he was doing. Foolish, after tonight he wouldn't _be_ his uncle, he couldn't go _looking_ for him.

It didn't matter anyway. It wasn't Uncle, but a patch of jasmine flowers, their scent strong like they'd been steeped in hot water under the deck of a metal ship. (He realised that that comparison didn't quite make sense, but still didn't push the memory away.)

Beneath the patch was part of a fallen branch, the wood fresh and clean. The short but broad shape reminded him of Uncle a pai sho tile _(that's not any better)._ It wouldn't be difficult to carve it into one.

He couldn't misread the sign, regardless of how he would have liked to. He took the pai sho branch with a heavy heart and turned to catch up with the others, only to find them waiting for him. Longshot was scanning the area around him, likely assessing for threats that could have prompted Li's unexpected movements, as if the cause wasn't obvious, while the others stood guard, eyes diverted from Li. They all knew what he was doing, but pretended not to for his sake; promising not to question him and offering a veneer of privacy.

Li pocketed the branch without a word and stepped back over to them, and they walked on without a word.

On an impulse, he turned back at the last second and plucked some of the flowers, crushing them slightly in his haste and pretence at indifference, staining his fingers with the smell of uncle.

They set up camp early that night. No one said it, but they were all giving him extra time to do what he needed to do, even though they had no idea what it was, only that it was important to him. That was enough.

Li's first order of business after the camp was set up (with the daily rigmarole of_ 'that's not how you make a fire Li it won't work like that'_ except it _will _because he'll _make_ it work but he can't tell them that) was to shred some jasmine petals, placing them in a tin cup full of water next to the fire. The smoke and makeshift jasmine tea filled his nostrils as he took a deep breath. When he closed his eyes, it was almost like he was here.

He let the memories show up and sit there for a moment (warmth and trust and _safety_), then pushed them all away and began his carving.

He first shaped the wood into a rough circle, about an inch in diameter and a half-centimetre thick, slightly larger than an ordinary pai sho tile. The basic shape complete, he steadied his hand and focused, letting everything else fade from his head as he worked. He gently carved the shape of the jasmine flower (ginseng was Uncle's favourite, but he didn't know what it looked like) onto one side, and the sigil for _'Uncle'_ on the other. Neither image was satisfactory. Li had never had a talent for the arts – he'd been too focused on fighting to listen to Uncle and enjoy the smaller things.

For a moment he contemplated just throwing this one away and trying again tomorrow. But he knew that if he let himself do it that night, he'd do it the next night, and the night after that. If he let himself wait any longer, he'd never be able to give up Uncle. It had to be now.

He held the carving in one hand, rubbing at the sigil with the other thumb, staring into the fire. He thought of Uncle, of his overwhelming support in all things he did, of his quiet confession _'I think of you as my own'_. He thought of long days and nights in exile, his fury at everything being directed at Uncle, just because he was there.

He was the only one that ever _was_ there. He'd never abandoned him, not until he asked him to. Li wondered what he'd think of him, doing this, trying to sever ties with him just to stay with someone else. Uncle would know exactly what do say to make him feel better, he'd know the best course of action to make him happy.

Uncle had never wanted anything other than to be there for him, and he was throwing him away at the sight of a shinier ally.

(His breath caught, and he couldn't seem to get it back on track, too quickly and too slowly and too much and too little and _stop it before you set something on fire_.)

He was despicable, to do this to Uncle, to leave him alone again, completely this time, but what else could he do? He had to give him up, he'd already committed to this, letting go of everyone else, he couldn't go back now, even if he wanted to _(by Agni, he wanted to)_.

He'd lost his breath control like he'd never had it – but he couldn't take a deep breath, there were flames in his throat _(were there?)_ and if he let them out everyone would _know_. His throat was tight, each breath burning, getting smaller the more he tried to just _breathe._

His vision dimmed, and his eyes focused on the tile between his fingers, watching _'Uncle' _disappear behind his thumb, only to reappear again as he rubbed it rhythmically.

In front of him, the fire flickered, dying down.

Jet wasn't sure what Li was up to, but he had a bad feeling about it. The rule was that they didn't ask - Li's past was his business – but he was starting to hate that rule.

Every day Jet thought about that rule and just wanted to pull Li out of his head and make him tell him everything he's thinking. Then he could change it, make it better. He knew Li was messed up inside, that everything he thought was wrong one way or another, but no matter how he phrased things, tried to show him that he cared, that they all cared, he still managed to take everything the wrong way.

(It was almost disturbing how someone so strong outside could be so broken inside. Or, at least, it would be if Jet had known anyone who was actually healthy inside since he was a little kid who didn't know better.)

He knew Li would talk one day - when he was ready to and not a moment before - and Jet wanted to respect that, even if it meant he never got to find the asshole that marked him and twisted up his thoughts (never got to kick his fucking teeth in and leave him begging in the dirt).

He wanted to trust that they would get there eventually, and Li would tell him, and he could _help _him. But he wasn't sure that he'd manage it before it was too late, and Li did something that couldn't be taken back.

Like whatever these carvings were. He knew they were no good, and he knew he couldn't do anything until Li was done with them, and being forced to just watch him do whatever he was doing without being able to stop help him was setting his teeth on edge.

Li had promised to tell him what the carvings meant after they were done (so at least he could do some damage control), but the symbolism there was worrying. Li was trying to _destroy_ something, something important, and the fact that he was willing to talk about it was worrying in that he never _was_ – _this_ was something _big,_ and Li wouldn't let them get involved until it was over.

There was one left to go, he'd said. It was in his hands just now, and was getting a hell of a lot more care than the others had. Whatever it was that he was about to symbolically destroy, it was huge, and the fact that Li had delayed it a day said that he didn't want to do it.

Another sign that Li didn't want to do it was the fact that he wasn't fucking breathing.

Jet was by his side in an instant, tense panic crushing his insides, a careful hand on Li's shoulder (internally preparing in case Li struck him in panic), his other hand gently turning his head away from the piece of wood, carved like a pai sho tile. He pulled one of Li's hands from the tile and onto his chest, letting him feel how Jet breathed.

(He found this method useful as it forced _him_ to breathe normally as well.)

"You're okay, Li," he told him, just barely keeping his voice even, "Just breathe with me, okay?"

Li gave the tiniest of nods, a small sound escaping his mouth. His hand grasped weakly at Jet's tunic as he focused on the rise and fall of his chest. He took in one shaky breath, too slowly and too little, but Jet didn't let him see his panic, just focused on breathing for him, pretending to himself that the breath was going onto Li's lungs, not his own, to force himself to keep steady.

One breath was enough for more to follow, Li slowly sagging as he managed to relax, while his free hand tightly gripped the makeshift tile. Jet moved to hold him against him, one arm behind his back as the hand slipped off his chest. Li leant against his chest and breathed with him. He was okay.

Jet dared to take his eyes off of Li for a second and was unsurprised to see his crew sitting next to them, Smellerbee gently rubbing at Li's wrist, running her fingers over his pulse again and again (reassuring herself as much as Li). Longshot didn't touch either of them, he wasn't one for contact, but his eyes were keenly focused on Li, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the pulse move in his neck.

Even after Li had calmed, they all stayed put right next to him.

He broke the silence with a, "Sorry," and Jet barely had the energy to be angry at whoever made him think that was the right reaction to have.

"You don't have anything to apologise for, Li," Smellerbee said, before Jet could.

"You're allowed to be upset, if you need to be," Jet struggled to keep his voice level. "But this is worrying." _It was so fucking far beyond worrying_. "Are you sure that whatever you were doing is what's best?" _Because I sure as shit don't think so._

Smellerbee gave him a _look_, a don't-do-this-just-yet, let-the-guy-breathe-for-a-minute, _spirits-you're terrible-at-this_ look. Jet was very familiar with it, and not just because she stole it from Longshot, who mirrored her.

Li didn't answer him, and Jet didn't push, even though he burned to. He felt the other's eyes on him as he tried to figure out how to proceed.

Not pushing paid off, however, when he started talking at a breakneck pace: "Before I found you guys," he said, "I was with some other people… I- I don't know if they were the_ best_ for me, but I knew them for so long and we knew each other so well and everything I knew and _was had been_ influenced by them and-" He stopped to take a breath and gather his thoughts.

"Even after I was kicked out," he continued at a slower pace, and Jet rubbed his shoulder soothingly, hiding how his anger swelled at his words, "for reasons that, in hindsight, might not be, uh, valid, I was desperate to go back to them.

"One of them had come with me," his hand tightened on the tile, "into exile and impossible tasks that I was always supposed to fail at. All I did was shout at him, and all he did was care for me and…"

He trailed off, seemingly unsure of how to continue.

Jet glanced at the tile. "Is that to do with him?"

Li's free hand moved to rub at the tile, the motion clearly practised and familiar, and he missed the way Smellerbee glared at Jet for pushing him again (but how could she not see it, he was _finally talking to them_).

"He loves pai sho," Li said, "And tea. Spirits, he's _obsessed_ with tea. I wanted was to fight everything, and he wanted me to slow down. It was infuriating, but he was only doing what he thought was best for me." He paused to take in a slow breath, shaky in a way that make everyone around him stiffen. "I burned a branch for everyone else in my… group, so I could cut ties with them, i-in my heart I mean, like a funeral or…"

Jet squeezed his shoulder. "I understand. It's okay."

It was _more_ than okay, letting go of people who'd hurt him, recognising what they'd done and moving past it. It was a bit of an odd way to do it, burning someone to ash doesn't make for the most peaceful goodbye, but if it got the job done and got them out of his head then all this was nothing but good news. This was the first healthy thing Li had done since the day they'd met, and he'd listened when someone told him he didn't need to be alone.

Li's posture softened at his reassurance. He looked down at the tile in his hand. "When I'm done with him," he said softly, _almost_ smiling in that way he does, even as his grip tightened, "I can really be a part of this group."

_That,_ however, was not okay. That was so fucking far from okay. Jet tried to hide how he stiffened, exchanging panicked glances with the others. He tried to convince himself that Li wasn't _really_ trying to cut off ties with people he'd cared about because he thought they wanted them to.

Sure, Jet felt like punching, or maybe stabbing, these people for making Li feel this way – because he'd always known it was someone's fault he was like this and now he had people to _blame_ for it – but if Li was going to get rid of them, it had to be because he understood that they hurt him and that it wasn't okay and _wanted_ to do it, not because he felt like he had to.

No wonder he was in such a state. He had to really care about pai-sho-tea-man. He sounded like he might be an _okay person,_ and Li needed as many of them as he could get in his life.

"Li," Jet starts, slightly too harshly when he realised that he had let the silence go on for far too long, "You don't need to cut ties with people for the sake of this group."

Li frowned at him, the firelight digging into his scar (did _they_ have something to do with it). "Of course I do," he said, tone almost incredulous, confusion plain across his face, "I can't be loyal to another group and be loyal to this one at the same time."

"That's not-" Jet tried to figure out a way to explain it, tried to figure out how he had got it so _wrong,_ "That's not how friends _work,_ Li, you're allowed to care about people who aren't us."

Li turned fully to face him, pulling himself out of Jet's grip. "But if I don't cut ties with them, how can you trust me? What if our groups ended up fighting – and you would hate them, you _do_ hate them, I _know_ you do-"

"We can find some way to figure this out that doesn't tear you in two, Li!" Jet tried not to shout, he really did, but he was so angry at whoever made Li think like that, and Li was shouting too and-

"What do _I_ matter? This is about the group!" _For fuck's sake, Li!_

"This is about _you_, and making sure you're okay!"

Li stared him straight in the face for a long second, mouth slowly moving with nothing coming out.

Li almost crumpled, ducking his head away. "But that doesn't make any sense," he said to his hands, voice barely above a whisper, seemingly shocked at the idea that people he cared about were willing to risk things for _him_, "Father _always_ needed my full loyalty, couldn't let me stay when I made him doubt it…"

_'Father'. For the love of the spirits, don't tell me…_ "This other group is your _family,_ Li?" It was easy to stop shouting, now that all breath had left his lungs.

"Not anymore," Li promised with a small hopeful smile, finally looking Jet in the eye. "I got rid of them for you."

Li was right about one thing, and one thing only. Jet definitely hated his family.

Jet pulled Li back into his arms, knowing full well that it was the wrong thing to do. Positive reinforcement was the last thing Li needed right now, but he wouldn't understand if he started shouting. Jet just pulled in all his anger and crushed it into a tiny ball and promised himself he'd yell at the sky tomorrow when Li couldn't hear him and think it was his fault.

Looking over Li's shoulder he saw Smellerbee pressed against his back, her head turned up to look at him. She gave a tiny shake of her head - she didn't know what to do about this either. Longshot placed his palm against other Li's shoulder, gently rubbing the knotted muscle. They knew Li would appreciate the gesture - as much as he pretends otherwise by daylight (when he rewraps himself in protective prickles that hurt him more than them), he had a desperate need for physical contact.

"Li," Jet eventually tried again, "You don't need to change yourself to fit here. We want you here for who you are."

Li pulled back a little, reluctantly, but Jet held him tightly and he relaxed in his grip. "I'd been lying and pretending before. I'd been acting how you wanted me to, as much as I could. But I'm not anymore; all the lies are true now.

"And besides," he added, "it's done now. I burned them. I burned my old name," _-what in the name of all that is Holy-_ "and I've only got one part left to do."

"Your pai sho man." _Who you cannot burn. Under no circumstances can you burn pai sho man._

Li shivered lightly, the bob of his throat nudging against Jet's shoulder, where he rested his chin.

"You don't have to do it, you know," Smellerbee offered from behind him. "We don't _want_ you to do it."

"We want you not to do it, I think," Jet agreed. "You care about this guy, and, by the sounds of things, he cares about you."

Li breathed wet breaths. "He does," he said, "He was the only one to care about me for years."

"Then don't do it."

"But you _hate_ him." Li protested, unable to understand that he can have things and care about people that _he_ wants to, regardless of them.

There's only one reason why they would want Li to drop this guy anyway. "Did he ever hurt you?"

"No," he says, some of his usual bite back in his voice. "Never."

"Then it doesn't matter." Jet just barely resisted the urge to run a hand through Li's hair to soothe him. "He cares about you, we care about you, what else do we need?" He chuckled, "It sounds like we have a fair bit in common with the guy."

"He's still-"

"He could be the bloody Prince of the Fire Nation, Li," Smellerbee says, and Jet almost can't believe he agrees with her, "and we wouldn't care. He looked after you when we weren't there to."

Li was silent for a long moment, just breathing those wet breaths, tucking his head down to hide it in Jet's shoulder, which grew damp.

"He-" Li says at last, "He'd like you guys, I think. He'd feel the same about… I mean he-" Li trailed off for a moment, struggling to find the words. Then, stronger: "He'd be happy that I'm with you guys, that you're here for me while he's not."

"If he's the same as us," Jet says, "He would tear the whole world apart for you, if you needed it."

Li gave a choked laugh, pulling his head off of Jet's shoulder to look him in the eye, his own slightly red. "I'm sure he'd find a solution that involved everyone talking it out," he says, emphatically _not_ denying that he trusted them to protect them the same as pai sho man.

They held each other's eyes for a long moment, aware of the others watching them at the same time, all thinking and hearing the same thing. Jet felt Li's heart beat in time with his against him.

_We're here for you,_ he promised with looks and touches, as the other's backed him up behind Li.

_I know_, Li held him tighter for an instant.

"And he'd use the time to lecture me in tea making again." Li broke the moment and their shared gaze with a roll of his eyes, as if he could shrug off everything and pretend it had never happened, already trying to retreat back into himself and be less vulnerable, even as they all crowded around him in comfort.

That was okay. Li knew he could show them this when he needed to.

They slowly separated, Jet giving him a final pat on the shoulder as he let go, each of them going back to their sleeping bags and preparing for the night. No one said a word bout anything that had happened. Jet kept a close but subtle eye on Li until he saw him stash the tile in his pocket, keeping it safe.

In the silence later, when they were all laid back to gaze at stars hidden by leaves and clouds, but still so bright away from the cities, came the whisper: "I would tear apart the world for each of you, too, if you needed it."

The fire had dimmed down slightly as they talked, and the light was likely too dim to see each other in. Jet wasn't quite sure, though, because he didn't check; there was a reason Li had waited until now.

"We know," Smellerbee told the sky. "Just remember to do the same for yourself."

Li promised nothing; gave them a different gift instead. "Uncle would love you all with everything he could, if he knew you."

"I think it's mutual." Jet accepted his gift with a tug in his chest. He'd have to find Uncle pai sho one day, not just for Li.

"I'm glad."

They watched the stars move as the fire dimmed. They slept peacefully.


	12. 4-3

Jet awoke the next morning knowing one thing with absolute surety: It hadn't been enough.

There were so many bits and pieces that came out last night that he simply hadn't been able to address, not when he had to focus his energy on convincing Li not to destroy his Uncle Pai Sho. But now, in daylight, he had no chance of getting Li to talk again.

(It didn't help that he doubted they'd quite gotten through to him. Li was trying to move past a lifetime of bad teachings, without knowing what was wrong in the first place.)

Jet took off away from camp, needing some time to himself to let off a little steam, with a nod to Smellerbee and Longshot as he left. Li was already off doing whatever it was that he woke up at the crack of dawn and disappeared off to do, so he didn't have to worry about him for the moment.

He found a half-dead tree a fair distance from the camp, secluded enough that he could yell all he needed to, and they wouldn't hear him. In some ways that was dangerous, but Jet was feeling dangerous, (and even if there was anyone else out here to try to bother him, he'd be happy to make them regret it).

He wasted no time on proper form, on worrying about blunting his swords, he just plunged them into the tree and out again, steadily tearing it to pieces as if that could quiet his thoughts.

It wasn't fair.

He struck and struck until his arms were sore and sweat poured down his back and his breaths were ragged, and then he struck some more because he couldn't stand being alone with his thoughts – _why did he go off alone_? He needed the others around him right now.

"You okay, Jet?"

Jet twisted to swipe his sword behind him without thinking, flinching as he saw Li duck under the wild swing. Jet stepped back, hands up, dropping his sword to land with a quiet thump on the hard-packed earth and grass (and bark knocked loose).

"Sorry," he said, feeling more apologies crowding behind his teeth. That was too close. It wasn't like Li couldn't handle himself or anything, couldn't see that coming from a mile away, but still…

(Li wasn't delicate. He knew he wasn't. Could trust that with his life. He had. But at the same time, he was so fragile.

Jet wasn't worried about hurting him_ that_ way. Li could _handle_ that. The problem was that he _would_, and wouldn't care.)

Li held up his hands as well, like calming a spooked ostrich-horse, posture soft and open, head slightly ducked. He offered Jet a little half-smile, expression open in a way Jet rarely saw. He was in a good mood, for whatever reason. "I should be sorry. I'd have done the same."

Jet was well aware. The 'Li is Having a Nightmare' Protocol involved poking him with a stick for a reason. (That was actually the only thing in that protocol, as Li always stormed off when he done glaring at them for noticing.)

Before now, he'd always thought it would be a relief to know what was wrong when Li started screaming in the night, to know what to say to reassure Li if he ever gave him the chance to, to recognise triggers during the day and be prepared to help him before it came time to sleep. But all he'd learned was that his family was fucked up and controlling, and that Li doubted his place here because of them.

And no matter how much Jet had done, he'd barely scratched the surface. It would take years to fix Li - if he ever could.

So much of what Li said last night horrified Jet. Without any details, his mind jumped to the worst conclusions and couldn't find any evidence that it wasn't as bad as he was thinking. _(What on earth did his family do to him?)_ Who thinks making new friends means you have to burn everyone you've ever cared about? Including yourself, or your name, at least. _(And what the actual fuck does that even mean, Li, what did you do to yourself?)_ What was _wrong_ with Li that _that_ was how he reacted?

What was he supposed to _do?_

Time and company were the only remedies he could offer. Useless as they were in the present. Useless as they were if Li got it in his head to leave them; if he thought he'd got something wrong because of everything wrong _they_ had taught him.

"I'll leave you to it, then." Li pointed back to the camp with a thumb over his shoulder, and twisted mid-step to walk away. Oblivious to Jet's little jump at his words. Without thinking, Jet took ahold of Li's shoulder, turning him back to face him, careful to keep his grip gentle even as he felt rushed.

"Could we talk?" he asked. He needed to know more, to fix more, to make sure that last night had sunk in properly and not twisted into something else. It needed to be now, while it was still fresh.

Li stiffened, steel snapping back into his spine, but gave a hesitant nod. (His breathing shifted into a different pattern, not a dangerous one, just even, steady, ready for a fight. He didn't seem to realise it.) He likely knew what was coming. Jet regretted destroying his good mood, but this needed to be done.

"You-" Jet was unsure of how to start. "You know you can talk to us, right? Like you did last night." Li flinched, but Jet continued - he had to get this out - squeezing Li's shoulder and promising himself he'd be as careful as he could. "You can talk to us like that anytime and we'll listen."

Li turned his head away, shifting his shoulder in a subtle request that Jet let go, which he did immediately. "Last night," Li said, picking at the frayed edges of his tunic, "I-I shouldn't have said so much-"

"Did you not want us to know about your… old group?"

"No, it wasn't… I don't…" Li trailed off, eyed cast downwards, a frown furrowing his eyebrow. "I-"

Jet gave him a moment to gather his thoughts and express himself properly, but it soon became clear that Li didn't know what he meant either when his scowl only worsened as the silence stretched. "Was it… Did you say something that you regret now?"

Li's hands stilled. "I could have. I almost did."

"Whatever it is, it doesn't," _matter? No, of course it matters, to Li at least, _"I mean… we'd accept it."

Li shook his head. "I'm not so sure. I don't want to make you say something you'll want to take back later."

"I wouldn't."

"You can't promise that." His tone was threaded through with desperation, regret. He wanted to tell him. Secrets upon lies upon mistrust were all piled up inside his head where Jet can't clear them out to reach his friend.

_Trust me! I'm right here._

"I can." And here came that hated bite in his voice, teeth gritting. He couldn't help it. Li just wouldn't listen, wouldn't hope.

"You can't," Li said, his tone final. "I'm sorry, Jet, but that's not something you can promise and it wouldn't be fair of me to ask it of you," he turned to meet his eyes, "I can accept that, though."

He watched Li's face, determined and sad, and realised he wasn't going to win this fight. The only way he could prove that he wouldn't care about whatever Li was keeping secret would be for Li to tell him and for him to accept it, and there was no hope for that anytime soon.

"You shouldn't have to," he told him. "But I… respect that it's your business and no one else's. I know that whatever your secret is, I would accept it. I hope that one day you'll know that, too."

Li's good eye widened, and Jet realised his misstep a second too late. "I'm not going to-"

"I only mean," he cut Li off before he could take that train of thought too far, "that I want you to trust me enough not to fear what would happen. Your secrets will remain yours for as long as you want them to. I'll never ask about them again, if you don't want me to."

Li nodded, a little scared but not too much, and _listening_ to him for once. Taking it in.

"What I was trying to say, before," Jet said, "was that you're not okay."

Li puffed up, scowling with both sides of his face. "I'm fine-"

"Li." A word and a look was enough when they both knew he was right.

And he cowed again, shoulders coming up as he curled in a defensive hunch, an instinctive shape, not a stance he'd taught himself. It didn't suit him.

Why did he always have to make this a fight? There was nothing wrong with being a little not okay, especially when you've been through shit. Li can't pretend he's okay, not to Jet, not to anyone who's had half a proper conversation with him.

"It's okay, Li, that you're not." Jet was careful to meet his eyes, keeping his tone slow. "We're here. You don't need to keep everything inside yourself like that anymore. You can afford to be open. It's safe."

Li's breath came slightly faster, eyes away, hands in tight fists by his sides. Was he pushing too hard? Probably, but he didn't know what else to do. Li _needed _to know this.

"Just… think about it. For next time you let yourself get worked up about things, like last night. You can just… not do that." Jet tried taking a step forward, and Li stepped back. Jet took a step backwards, back to where he'd been, careful to keep out of his space. If that was what Li needed just now, that was what he'd get.

Jet moved to leave him alone. He'd said his piece, and Li probably needed a minute to himself.

"I-" Jet stopped in his tracks, half turning back, not quite looking at Li, not sure of what he wanted. "I think that I believe you. I want to." Jet turned to face him fully, the thrill of success running down his spine and surely showing on his face. He wasn't sure what to do with the softer emotions that rose in him, but fought the urge to push them away. "You've never given me a reason to doubt you. That's more than anyone else has ever given me. Well…" he looked away, "Almost anyone else."

"Uncle Pai Sho?"

"Potential Prince of the Fire Nation, and you can't complain." Li gave him a little cocky grin, his earlier panic all but vanished, as Jet faked a groan at his earlier promise. He didn't really care; it didn't matter who Uncle Pai Sho was, not when Li needed him (and if he was wrong - if the guy _was_ bad for Li, he'd… well, he wasn't sure what he'd do. He tucked the worry away, unable to do anything with it.).

"You'll meet him someday," Li promised, lowered eyes far away as he thought about his only family.

"Lookin' forwards to it." Jet returned the expression.

Li took a step forward to close the distance between them. And then got a little squirrel-rabbit look when he got there, not sure what to do with it. Jet offered his hand for him to clasp, reeling him in for a half-hug as he accepted.

With their faces hidden away from each other, chins tucked over shoulders, Jet asked, "Are you good? Is this okay?"

Li softened in the closeness. "Thanks for this, Jet. You're just… You're good. It's all good."

Li tightened his grip slightly, tension coming back to him. _(Here comes trouble.) _"I just. I want to talk to you guys about a lot of things, but I've got too many secrets and it all feels like lying." He let out a sigh. "I don't know _how_ to talk to you about everything."

Of course, the guy with seven hundred secrets and seven hundred issues can't talk about one without bringing up the other. "It's not about us learning things about you, Li," he told him because it was true; he was trying to help a friend, not solve a puzzle, "It's about us helping you figure stuff out. If you need to lie to do that, go ahead - just let us know when things get lost in translation, so we don't say the wrong thing, okay?" He tried to push a laugh into his voice, but it didn't quite fit. Li likely felt it shuddering in his chest, but didn't comment on it.

"Yeah," Li said, voice tight in a way Jet knew not to mention, but not to ignore either. "Yeah, Jet, I can do that."

Then, near silent: _"Thank you."_

They stayed together and silent for a long moment, Li too starved for affection to think about pulling away, Jet waiting and enjoying his friend's safety, letting him decide when to leave.

Eventually, Li pulled back a little, and Jet let him go with only a little regret. He averted his eyes as Li rubbed at his. One thing he was sure about, Li needed more hugs. (He wasn't sure about anything else, except that he would find a way through all of this, eventually. He had to.)

"Can I ask for one thing, Li?"

"I think you know that you can ask for just about anything from me, at this stage." As much as Jet appreciated Li's new take on honesty, his too-quick loyalty only made him uncomfortable.

"You have to hug us more. Seriously!" He protested as Li laughed. "You need them! And you're not too bad at it either."

Li just gave him a look, emphasised by his permanent scowl, even as his little grin ruined the effect. At least he was self-aware.

"Okay, well, maybe not - but practice makes perfect!" Jet pulled an arm around Li's shoulder in a half-hug. He was being silly, he knew, his smile wider than it needed to be, but it was making Li laugh, which was a first.

He was being _mostly_ serious, though – Li was starved for affection _(Jet pushed down the anger; it couldn't help him here)_, and soaked up every drop of love he could.

The two of them shared a moment of silence, comfortable with each other. Safe.

Li stared at the ruined remains of the tree. Jet had really done a number on it. "You're looking after yourself as well, right?" he asked, not quite out of the blue. "Just because you feel responsible for the rest of us, and I'm in a kinda shitty place-" Jet felt a swell of pride at him admitting it unprompted "-doesn't mean that we're not here for you, too, you know?"

Jet tightened the arm around Li's shoulder, resisting the urge to pull Li back in for another full hug. He started to walk back to camp instead, separating from Li to grab his swords from the ground, the anger that had brought him out there in the first place long gone. Li fell into step with him easily.

"Don't worry but me," he gave Li a comfortable smile. "I'm managing myself, and the others know me too well for me to get away with bottling shit up." He nudged him with his shoulder. "Thanks for caring though."

Li didn't bother denying it. He'd come pretty far for such a short time. Maybe there was hope, yet.

"If it helps…" Li's mouth twisted for a moment in thought, then straightened as he came to a decision. "Meditation can be good for just… quieting your thoughts sometimes. I try to do it every morning." His eyes darted away. "With – with the sunrise. If you want to join me."

Jet slung an arm back around his shoulder, the awkwardness of daytime-snappish-Li dissolved by their earlier hugs, into some new cuddly-turtleduck-Li, who relaxed at the contact.

"I'd love that," he told him, and Li smiled.


	13. 5-1

"Jet." _What?_ "Wake up." _What?_

The hand shaking his shoulder was gentle, as was the owner's voice. There was no urgency in either.

Not an emergency then. He didn't _need_ to wake up. Jet swatted away the irritating hand and tried to turn himself over.

"Jet." There was a note of laughter in the rude voice. The hand returned.

_"Nooooo."_ Jet opened heavy eyes to near-complete darkness. The ashes of their fire pit smouldered, orange flames struggling to stay alive. Through the inky silhouettes of trees, Jet saw the pinking sky of an oncoming sunrise.

Sunrise. Li's meditation. Why did Jet agree to do this again?

_Because it was a good opportunity to understand Li better and the action itself would be good for your mental health?_ Snarked a snarky voice in the back of his mind.

With reluctant determination, Jet forced his sleep-heavy muscles to lift him out of his sleeping bag.

Some part of him wanted to be annoyed at Li's smug little grin, but couldn't help but revel in the sight of him so openly happy. Things had been getting better, slowly, and he dared to think that Li's little burning ceremony would help him get better faster from now on, but the sight of Li happy remained a rare and special one.

(Li being a cheeky little shit was an unexpected development, but not necessarily an unwelcome one.)

Li was unfairly bright-eyed in the early hour, leading Jet by the hand though the trees to a cliffside where they could see the valley below, misty with the hour, and the mountains across, sharp craggy silhouettes of dark brown. The sun, almost groggy itself, was just starting to peek over the peaks.

(At times like this, Jet understood Longshot's aversion to the spoken word.)

Birds on the trees above them were starting to awaken; some were already airborne ahead of them, looking for early catches in the still-drowsy world. The sound of their song and wings blended with the rustling of leaves in the wind, creating a gentle ambiance.

They settled on the grass just a few feet from the cliff's edge, droplets of dew soaking into their clothes. The ground smelled like rain, but wasn't uncomfortably damp.

"So." Jet broke the silence, startling Li slightly. He realised that he was sat on Li's bad side, where he was sure Li's senses were limited - not that he'd ever risked asking, Li wouldn't want him to know his weaknesses, not even so he could cover them. "How does this work, exactly?"

Li sat rigidly cross-legged, eyes on the mountains ahead of them. He was oddly calm, the quiet in his expression almost noble. "We close our eyes," he said. "And we feel the sun."

Jet frowned.

"We feel the sun?"

The calm was broken. Li turned to him, flushed and gesticulating, "He – the sun – it, ah." He blinked, then tried again, more slowly, "We feel the – the _warmth_ of the sun on our skin, and focus on that and nothing else. Until the head is empty of thought."

He reddened more the longer Jet looked at him.

"That's it?" Jet asked, harsher than he'd meant to.

"I – yeah, I know it sounds-"

"It sounds fine," Jet said, still too curt, before Li could say something insulting about himself. "Sounds good," he corrected his morning-rough tone, "I just thought it was more complicated than that."

"It's harder than it sounds," Li insisted, flush fading.

Jet softened his expression. "Then let's get to it."

It was a _lot_ harder than it sounded. More than once Jet found himself just opening his eyes and looking over at Li, who only breathed, slow and deep, in the steady rhythm Jet recognised from Li's smaller panics, when his body prepared itself for a fight.

On second thought, perhaps the weird breathing was just his way of centring himself.

Either way, Li was as unaware of his surroundings as he would be when asleep, Jet was sure. As much as the act of meditating frustrated him, he couldn't deny how pleased he was – how proud - that Li was willing to share something so vulnerable with him.

He _was_ getting a little bored. Especially as he'd given up an actually achieving the calm Li had slipped into so easily. But he couldn't deny that the sun on his skin and the landscape before him was pleasant – though he wasn't sure he wouldn't have preferred to stay in bed.

Li eventually resurfaced, calm and soft and sleepy-blinking and Jet wanted to hug him like he would for any of his kids. He settled for scooching closer so their thighs touched. Li smiled at him and leaned closer - movements natural, as though he would do it any day of the week - for once unbothered by their close proximity. Maybe even comfortable with it, as bizarre as it was.

Li had been happier for all the previous day, his mood not dropping once as they trekked onwards. Jet was hesitant to trust that this strange mood was permanent, but he couldn't keep himself from hoping it would become a more common occurrence.

He placed an arm around Li's shoulders slowly, giving the boy time to shift away if he wanted to. He was terrified that he might startle away cuddly-happy-turtleduck-Li for another month, but desperate to encourage him to stick around.

Jet looked at Li, happy and comfortable and _trusting_, and mentally weighed his options. As it was, Li was willing to talk to him. There were some things that Jet, as much as he _desperately_ wanted to, simply didn't need to know – the identities of Li's family, so he could kick their teeth in; his many exploits as the Blue Spirit, for the sheer excitement of being friends with _The_ Blue Spirit (and he still wasn't over _that_) – but there were a few questions that couldn't wait, not if they were half as bad for Li as Jet worried that they were.

If he asked, he risked losing this happy Li.

But if he didn't, something far worse could take Li from him, further down the line.

With a heavy heart, he realised he had to ask, but promised himself he'd be as gentle as he could.

"The other night," he started, delving deep into the Rules of Li to make sure he wouldn't misstep, unwilling to trust in Li's comfort and good mood, "When you… when everything happened, you said something that worried me. Would you mind if I asked you about it? You won't have to answer if you don't want to."

Li stiffened slightly next to him, but forced the tension to leave his shoulders. At such close proximity, it was easy to recognise his meditation_(/fighting)_ breaths.

"Okay," he said eventually, quieter than normal, but not too tense.

"You said you burned your old name." And the stiffness came back. "I don't want to know what it was – or, well," he amended, "I _do_, but that's not what I'm asking and I'm never going to ask for that. That's your business, and I'll always respect that."

Li wilted again, like an owl-cat that had been scratched just right lowering its hackles.

"I want to know what that means, to you. You-" he felt an urge to explain, "You burned a part of yourself, a part of your past, and I'm just worried about what that could mean. How much of yourself did you abandon for us?"

Li leaned in closer to him, eyes fixed on the horizon again. He didn't seem distressed. Jet suspected that simply being in his meditation area, being in a place he had already decided was for safety and calm, was helping him manage his emotions.

"I was unhappy, before," Li said. "I'd been given a mission I was never supposed to complete, and everything I wanted in life hinged on my ability to complete it. It made me angry, but I couldn't tell why. I thought I would manage it eventually, because I had to, and because… because my father had ordered me to." He sniffed, but didn't stop. "I wanted to please him, to be what he wanted me to be, but that wasn't me.

"When I burned my name, I was burning my anger, my mission, my allegiances. The things I did in my father's name. All the things I used to be that made me unhappy."

Jet tightened the arm around Li's shoulders. Relief washed over him, the huge wave of it making him lightheaded for a moment. (Li had done something healthy – the thought was so alien and so comforting that is made him almost uncomfortable.)

"I'm glad. With everything you'd said that night, I was worried it was something else. I wasn't sure what I thought, but…" he swallowed. There was something lodged in his throat. "I'm glad," he repeated.

"That second night," Li said, "After you broke me out. I told you I wasn't sure which side I should be on, whether or not I should make amends with my enemies or keep working for my first group. I - I'm finished with my family now; I'm not following their orders anymore. They can't control me."

His determined tone softened. "I can fix all my mistakes, and start anew."

Jet smiled. "It's good that you figured everything out. I know how hard it is - how scary it feels - not knowing what the right thing to do is. Having to second-guess everything you do and everything you think. But, as much as it sucks having something like this hanging over your head," he looked at Li, eyebrow raised to soften his words, "You need to remember to look after yourself as well as your old enemies."

"Why?" Li smirked, unrepentant. "I've got you for that."

Jet rubbed his knuckles on Li's head, tightening his grip on Li's shoulders. Li laughed, delighting in the roughhousing, just as Jet had hoped. (It was stupid to risk Li's current happiness for more happiness, he knew, but hearing his kids laugh, watching them move past their fears, brought him a joy nothing else could match.)

Li smiled at him; cheeks flushed. He looked his age for once.

"I suppose it'll all be fine, then," Jet said, mock stern, "As long as you let us look after you."

Li curled closer under his arm. "I know you'll do a good job."

**A/N hey this is just a quick reminder that i have more of this story (and others) up on ao3 as well. same name.**

**also sorry for forgetting to update on here so often, but like. no ones commenting or anything so i forget its here. I'm much more diligent over there**


	14. 5-2

When they made camp that evening, Li asked, out of the blue, "Do you guys want to hear about an asshole with terrible sideburns?"

Jet blinked at the non-sequitur, but nodded. Thus begun The Adventures of Ponytail-Boy and Admiral Sideburns.

Three sentences in, Jet concluded that Li was an appalling storyteller. He couldn't find it in himself to care.

"And the…" Smellerbee frowned at the marks gouged in the soft mud, "Prince… the Prince's honour was restored."

Li smiled at her and the words in the mud while she hugged him around the waist. Her reading was coming along incredibly quickly. He'd have to get some scrolls or something for her to practise with at the next town.

Jet frowned at the letters in the ground. "Why does every sentence contain the word _honour_? I think _I'd_ be able to spell that word by now."

Li stared at him for a long moment.

"Inside joke."

"Li, Admiral Sideburns is starting to freak me out a little."

"Don't worry about it." Li poked absently at the fire. He'd been telling them these stories every night for over a week now, and was far less disturbed by them than he really should have been. "Uncle refused to leave my side whenever he was nearby, after the first time he tried to lure me on his ship with tea."

"Still…"

"Oh, and he's dead now as well."

_"You didn't think to lead with that?!"_

Li sat down on a log and planned out his next sentence. He probably shouldn't use the word_ honour_, there were plenty of more useful words that Smellerbee needed to know better, but he kinda wanted to keep using it just to bother Jet.

Unconsciously, he held Smellerbee in his lap while he planned, one hand around her waist, chin resting on her bushy hair.

(Half-faded memories of actually _being_ an older brother to Az- _You burned her, remember?)_

He shifted in his seat, tightening his hold on Smellerbee.

Memories of being_ someone's_ big brother sprang to the forefront of his thoughts. It was weird and dumb that he missed something he'd never really had. She'd outstripped him the first time she sparked; she'd never _needed_ him.

He looked around their little camp - thin sleeping bags and dirt-smeared clothes; food caught fresh in the forest only to be burned on their campfire. The Caldera had feather beds and silk robes and the finest chefs in the Fire Nation.

He'd never known the warmth of a person sitting shoulder to shoulder with while they ate; of someone waking him during his nightmares and waiting for the sunrise with him; of a sparring match where he _knew_ the other would stop if he asked.

(Except below the decks of a rusty tin can, but the ginseng dragon was long gone.) He had what he had, and couldn't wish for anything different.

He'd become used to having people around him caring about him. That was a strange thought, that he could trust that the people around him wanted him to be happy. His free hand joined the other around Smellerbee's waist.

(He _had_ burned her to make space, hadn't he?)

(Well, no, but close enough. The space was there; he might as well fill it.)

"I think I used to do this kind of stuff with my little sister," Li said without being asked. "I'm not too sure because we would have been very young, but I know that my cousin used to do that stuff with me and I always wanted to be like him."

Jet grinned at him from across camp. "You have a little sister?"

"_Had,"_ Li corrected himself as much as he corrected Jet. "She's not my sister anymore, so…" (Jet flinched, minutely and inexplicably.)

"We didn't exactly get along anyway," Li ignored Jet's reaction. "She took after our father – she was his favourite. In hindsight, that probably wasn't much better than being the disposable heir."

Jet had that strange look he always got when Li talked about his family.

(He probably didn't like that Li used to have other loyalties, despite his assurances that he belonged to Jet now. It probably wouldn't be beyond him to lie about not caring about Li's old loyalties to make Li feel better – he often seemed to hide the truth when he thought it was in Li's best interest.

It was a little worrying, that Jet didn't trust that they were gone from his heart. He didn't want Jet to think he was still loyal to his (ex-)father, especially if he found out exactly who he was.

Li had burned them right in front of him, and reassured him that they were dead to him every time they came up in conversation – he wasn't sure what else he could do to convince him.

He didn't dare bring it up, in case he sounded too defensive.)

"What was she like?" Smellerbee asked him from his knee.

"Scary," he replied easily. "Powerful – she was bending from her crib. The first time she managed to bend properly she killed my sparrowkeet – I think it was an accident that time, but father was pleased with her so…" He let his chin rest fully on top of Smellerbee's head. "I can't blame her for it; I can't imagine how I would have turned out if he'd paid closer attention to me. Getting kicked out was probably the best thing that ever happened to me."

"No offence," Jet said, tone carefully casual, "But your dad is kinda the worst."

"You have no idea. And he's not my dad anymore, remember."

Jet actually looked pleased – only a little, but it was genuine. Maybe he'd actually got through to him with that one.

_(I'm loyal to _you_ now, I promise.)_

"Sorry," Jet smiled, "Your not-dad is the worst."

"That's more like it."

"But your sister…"

Li frowned. Jet trusted he was done with his not-father, but not his sister? "She doesn't matter anymore," he promised him.

"She doesn't sound too bad… or like her actions are her fault, I guess."

Li suspected they were having a different conversation. Li was trying to convince him he didn't care about her, and Jet was saying… something else.

"…I suppose not."

Jet leaned forward. "What's she really like? Aside from scary."

Li pushed past the bone-chilling terror that accompanied thoughts of her, to the little cherub the monster had grown from. "She's a liar," he said. "And a manipulator. Better than anyone I've ever met. Better than you, even," he added, hoping Jet would see it as a reference to her skill, and not as an insult to his own.

(Jet gave that little flinch again – too small for anyone not used to skilled actors and expert liars to see.)

"She's lucky and confident and infallible," Li continued, forcing himself past the accidental insult. "If she decides she's gonna do something, there's not much that can stop her. She's… she's not much of a person outside of trying to be scary, I think." He tried to think of an instant of her own personality, of a scrap of herself that wasn't forged by their _her_ father, but came up empty. "She doesn't do theatre or sneaking or music. Just fighting and lying. Her father wants her to do that, and she hasn't tried to be anything else."

Jet listened with an uneasy expression, but didn't say anything in response. He looked a little pale.

"I saw her a few months ago – for the first time in three years," Li continued, just to break the stifling silence. "She tried to kill me – or capture me, maybe, but she wouldn't have minded either way, I don't think. She must have an actual mission just now, or she wouldn't have left me to the bounty hunters for this long."

Smellerbee piped up from his grip. "Would those Rhino guys have given you to her? Or do you think they were working for someone else?"

_(He swallowed down the memories of the dark cell; of being helpless and trapped for hours in pain, with nothing to think of but Azula's looming approach.)_

"Nah, it was her," he said like it didn't matter. He almost sounded convincing, too. But he knew she could feel how he'd tensed.

She took a careful hold of his wrists, rubbing over the mostly healed scars from his stint in prison. He wouldn't have had them if he hadn't tried to escape on his own. If he'd known he had people watching his back.

He relaxed as much as he could and took her hands in his gently, knitting their fingers together.

"I know now that you'd come," he said, quiet; just for her, "If it happened again. You wouldn't let her get me."

She squeezed his hand.

"How do I write _sister_?" she asked.

He shifted his grip on her, grabbed a stick to write with, and taught her about siblings.

"What if I just quit the war and did theatre?"

"I thought that was the plan?"

Li blinked, surprised as he always was that Jet cared more about his happiness than his uses as a soldier. "It is _now_, I guess," he said. He laid back in the long grass of that day's meditation spot. "…After I find my enemies and tell them how to kill my not-dad."

"Just let me do it. I am actually begging you." Jet was grinning too widely to be taken seriously, even though Li knew he absolutely meant it. Li realised that was the first time he'd mentioned killing Ozai.

"They're all benders," he said, instead of elaborating on exactly _why_ Ozai needed to die.

He knew Jet's reasons to want him dead were different to his own – well, he wanted Ozai dead for the same reasons, but Li's not-father? It was strange to think of killing him just for his scar (and Jet didn't even know about that? He must be overreacting – or lying for Li's emotions again.).

Regardless, he was still somewhat reluctant to get back into the fight - it would be safer and easier to hide than to take the fight to Ozai.

(He started to hope he _wouldn't_ find the Avatar; then he could just quit the war.)

"They might _not_ die fighting him," he explained instead.

Jet sat straighter, incredulous. He didn't seem to have noticed Li's conflict. "And you were fighting them _alone_?"

"Basically." He plucked stems of grass, shredded them into neat little sections. "My crew was shit and Uncle didn't actually want me to succeed in my mission."

It should have stung, that Uncle was actively trying to stop him from capturing the Avatar, but he'd realised the minute he burned his father that going back home would be a death sentence for him. He could never be happy serving him, despite how he'd wanted to for so many years, and he'd definitely never be able to keep his mouth shut. He'd be lucky to escape with his other eye intact – be lucky to escape _alive_ – and he'd never been particularly lucky.

"So you took on a bunch of benders alone?" Jet asked again, his naturally ridiculous eyebrows arched higher than usual. "You just chased them across the Earth Kingdom to get smacked around every other week."

That… was more accurate than Li would ever admit.

"I almost won sometimes," Li said, indignant. "I kinda want to fight him one last time just to see how I'd do."

"…Li, _no_."

"If I ever meet your not-dad," Jet said, casual and conversational, as they trekked up a mountain, "I'm gonna kick him in the nuts."

"Please don't; he will literally kill you."

"Might be worth it."

"_Fuck."_

The vicious curse was reverent as a prayer. Li broke his meditation posture, flopping back on the grass with a grin.

Jet looked over, trying to pretend he'd at least been _trying_ to meditate. So far, he hadn't been able to do anything more than enjoy the calm.

"What?" he asked. Over the last week, Li had been just as irritating as on the first day, dragging Jet out of bed for an hour or so of sunrise and peace. He couldn't complain, not when the activity managed to soothe him, not when Li would _talk to him_ at the end of each session, opening more and more as the days went by. This was the first time Li had actually interrupted meditation, however.

Li smiled, soft and calm and peaceful. "My not-dad can eat shit," he said, his gentle tone at odds with the harsh words.

"I thought this was old news," Jet smirked. It was almost mad how much Li cursed his not-dad, now that he'd broken the seal. Mad how much he talked at all, if Jet was honest, now that he trusted them. "Is there something he's done that I don't know about?"

"Oh, plenty," Li said. "But I realised I don't have to do things he wants me to do. Aside from the obvious, I mean. So many things are open to me now." He stretched his arms to the sky, then dropped them to splay on the ground.

Jet laid back next to him, their shoulders brushing. "Any details you can spare?"

(Even after all this time, even in Li's happy place, Jet knew better than to ask direct questions when asking to ask a question was a possibility.)

"I have come to the decision," Li said, "That I am very gay."

Jet blinked, but he didn't seem angry at him so things were already going well. "I didn't know that was something you could choose?" Jet asked.

"I don't need an heir." Li grinned, turning over onto his stomach, bracing himself on his folded arms. "Not anymore. I tried to pretend to myself that I liked girls, because I had to marry one," which remained kinda _ew_ to think about but mostly just sad. He didn't want to marry someone he didn't love, even for the good of the Fire Nation. (Plus, it would be a shame for whatever girl he ended up with, he supposed.)

"I just don't see the appeal?" he continued. "Like they're nice and all and I liked making jokes about being _dual wielding_," Jet snorted at his waggling eyebrow, "but… it doesn't compare."

(Broad shoulders and deep voices and hard muscle. Someone protective and tall and strong.

_Someday_.)

"I get what you mean," Jet said, words slowed by thought. "I don't care either way. Romance and stuff is useful for manipulating people," Li bit his tongue to keep himself from asking; Jet's expression was enough to ward him away, "But beyond that? I don't really get it."

"You don't…" Li sat up, brow furrowed, crossing his legs under him. Jet didn't fancy people _at all?_

Well, if a person could fancy both, then why _not_ fancy neither? "So you don't wanna marry _anyone?_" he asked. Just to clarify.

"Nah, I got my kids," Jet said. "Don't need a woman or anything."

Li heard that wrong. He snickered, "Maybe don't phrase it like that."

"Li!" Jet smacked him on the arm, gentle in that way he always was with him. Like he might break if he hit him too hard. Or like he might fly into a panic.

Li hated that he wasn't wrong.

(He wasn't _delicate_, he was just… well, he _wasn't_ delicate.)

He glanced at Jet, who kept watching Li with that scandalised expression, his slick composure broken by genuine surprise.

Jet staunchly refused to laugh with him at his awful horrible_ mean_ joke (even though he really wanted to). He shushed Li, who just flopped back down on the ground, snickers turning to giggles. A shove on the shoulder just made him roll over to his back again, laughter coming like it was being shoved out of his lungs.

He wouldn't stop.

It took Jet a moment to recognise that he was actively trying to get Li to stop laughing. It had become too common for him to fear its end.

He still didn't laugh, but couldn't hold back a smile.

**A/N here is your regularly scheduled reminder that I keep forgetting to post here bc no comments and that there is roughly 25k more of this series posted on ao3. My name is FoiblePNoteworthy there as well and its called Guilt (The Jet adopts Zuko AU). I have other writing over there including a comedy about Zuko convincing the gaang he is his own twin, and a 20k fic about platonic soulmates.**


End file.
